“We won’t have to. I can almost guarantee you that it’s going to be on the East Pearl. That’s the one that’s deep enough to be navigable from the Gulf. There are even channel markers on the part down around Highway 90, if I remember right. Besides, if that boat is a big ocean-going sailboat with a mast, the East Pearl is the only route they could have taken because it’s the only one with a drawbridge.”
“I hope you’re right. We don’t have enough gas to run around all over a swamp that big, and it’s going to get dark again soon.”
The outboard continued to run, and soon they reached the confluence with the Pearl. Just as Zach had said, it was a much bigger waterway than the Bogue Chitto.
“We’ve got to go left here,” Zach said. “This is the Pearl, but the split is upstream from the Bogue Chitto. I remember studying that on the map. We go until we get to where it forks, then turn south on the east fork. That will take us all the way to the Gulf, and we’ll find that catamaran somewhere along the way, I’m sure of it.”
Joey suggested they switch places so Zach could steer, glad at least one of them knew something about the area, because he knew he would damned sure be lost if it were just him in this boat. He’d never seen such woods. They seemed like endless walls of green on both sides of the river, and it felt like they went on forever. In many places, the forest consisted of cypress and other swamp trees growing right in the water at the river’s edge.
Joey had no way of knowing exactly how fast they were going, but the trees were whizzing by as bend after bend of the same swampy wilderness unfolded before them. It was hard to believe there was so much uninhabited land so close to New Orleans, but looking at it, he could see why no one would want to live here. There was barely any dry ground to be found, and what little there was was muddy and choked with head-high palmettos. Joey knew such places were literally crawling with snakes and alligators. Already they’d passed cottonmouths sunning on overhanging branches, and had seen two big gators on the bank. The size of the gators made him glad to be in a motorboat instead of a canoe like the one they had left behind. The only other thing that broke the green monotony of that afternoon was a huge four-lane bridge crossing that Zach said was Interstate 59. They zoomed under the gray concrete structure as fast as possible. Joey was worried that someone with a gun might be crossing over the river at the moment they went under it, so they didn’t waste any time hanging around such a vulnerable spot.
“Grant said the boat was north of I-10,” Zach said, once they were back in the wilderness and out of sight of the bridge. “That means it’s somewhere in this next stretch, between I-59 and I-10.”
“How far is it between them?”
“I don’t know for sure. It’s deceptive with all the twists and turns, but in a straight line it wouldn’t be far at all. We need to keep an eye out; look in all the side channels and bayous so we don’t miss it.”
After another half hour of running the outboard at nearly wide open, just as it was nearing sunset again Joey suddenly pointed at something and waved for Zach to slow down. Joey saw that it was a boat, and a big one, but it sure wasn’t a sailboat. “Well, that’s not it,” he said, as Zach throttled back to idle and they studied the anchored boat.
“No, but we should check it out. There may be gas or something we can use on board.”
“You’re right. Ease a little closer, slowly.” Joey grabbed the shotgun that was resting on the seat between them and held it at ready, while Zach maneuvered the boat.
“That’s a workboat, Joey. Some kind of commercial fisherman, probably a shrimper, but without his outriggers.”
“What’s it doing way up here?”
“Who knows? Somebody trying to get the fuck out of Dodge, I guess, but it looks abandoned.”
“I don’t know why anyone would abandon a boat like that in a time like this. It could be a trap.”
“Well, if anything moves, blow it away!”
“I’ve got it covered. Just get a little closer so we can see what’s up.”
Zach steered in the direction of the anchored boat, but instead of going straight to it, he circled wide so they could look at it from every angle before getting in contact distance. Joey was ready with the shotgun, but there was no movement aboard the boat. The name painted on the stern was Miss Lucy, and under it the hailing port of Bay St. Louis was written in smaller letters.
“Maybe they left to go somewhere in a smaller boat. They might be back any minute.”
“Maybe. But pull up closer. I want to see what that writing on the back of the cabin says.”
Zach eased the Johnboat alongside until they could both read the painted words Joey had noticed. They were not neat and evenly spaced like the careful lettering on the stern. The writing was more like hastily scrawled graffiti, but when Joey read it, he knew instantly that it was not the work of vandals.
“Do you see that, Zach? That says ‘Casey Nicole!’”
“Do you think that has something to do with Jessica’s friend, Casey?”
“Of course. It must be the name of the sailboat. They painted this. It’s a message to fuckin’ Grant and the island man!”
“What does that mean: ‘De boat lock’?”
“Fuck if I know. But that’s a map and it says they went to Cat Island. Do you know where that is?”
“Well, according to that map, it’s near Ship Island. I’ve been there on the ferryboat that takes people out there to the beach. Years ago. But why would they paint their message on this boat? And where did it come from?”
“Who knows? Maybe it was already here when they got here. But it’s obvious why they did it. For some reason they decided they better get the hell out of here and Grant and his Rasta friend weren’t back on time.”
“They wouldn’t just leave them, would they? That’s what the map is for, but how did they expect them to get to that island. This boat must work, that’s got to be it.”
“Of course it does, dumbass! That’s what it means where it says ‘De boat lock’. Come on, let’s get on board and see if we can find a key or something. Just stay alert until we know for sure there’s no one around!”
Zach shut the outboard off as soon as he had tied a line from the Johnboat to a big cleat on the deck of the fishing boat. He held the shotgun while Joey clambered aboard, then he passed it up to him and boarded himself. They walked to the back of the cabin house looking for more painted writing, but found nothing else.
“Let’s go up to the bridge,” Zach said. “All the engine controls and everything will be there. If they thought Grant and that Scully dude could figure it out, I’ll bet we can, too.”
The first thing Joey noticed as they climbed the steps to the helm station was that the wooden structure was riddled with bullet holes and most of the glass from the big windows was shattered into tiny bits that lay in piles on the deck. There were also dark stains of blood spatters on the white painted walls inside.
“Somebody shot the hell out of this tub, dude.”
“Yeah, and it looks like whoever was driving when it happened didn’t come out so well. Maybe it happened before Casey’s dad and them got here.”
“Look! There’s a fuckin’ key in the switch! They didn’t lock the boat. See if it works!”
Zach studied the control panel and found the throttle lever, which he moved forward slightly from dead idle. Then he checked the shifter lever to be sure the transmission was in neutral. When he turned the key, a lot buzzer sounded.
“What’s that?” Joey asked.
“It’s normal; just an alarm to let you know the key’s on. Hang on.” He pushed another button. The alarm went silent and this time there was a slow grinding of a big engine turning in the bowels of the boat, like the sound of a truck cranking. But though the starter seemed to have plenty of power to turn the engine over, it just turned and turned without firing, kind of like the outboard had done after they got it wet. Zach tried several times and then stopped, switching off the key.”
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br /> “What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know, let’s go find the engine room and take a look.”
All Joey could do was stare helplessly as Zach peered and poked at the big diesel in its dark compartment surrounded by heavy framing timbers below the deck. Joey could tell Zach didn’t have a clue about how to get it running either, despite his success at fixing the drowned outboard.
“We’re just wasting our time here, Zach. We might as well just go on in the little boat.”
“To Cat Island?” Zach just laughed. “That piece of shit Johnboat isn’t seaworthy enough to go all the way out to Cat Island.”
“Well, at least it runs. You can’t get this one running. They did something to fuck it up on purpose. That’s what the message meant.”
“It couldn’t be anything permanent, if they thought Grant and the island man could fix it.”
“How do you know? That bastard may have been a diesel mechanic down there somewhere. You’re obviously not. If we can’t crank it, we’re just wasting time that we could be using to catch up. We might even catch them before they get to Cat Island. I mean, how fast can a fucking sailboat go?”
“Faster than you’d think. At least a catamaran can, anyway. If there’s wind, that thing can probably easily outrun that old outboard, at least when they get out on open water. Besides, no matter what engine was on it, that little Johnboat couldn’t handle much of a chop, much less run at speed in one.”
“Well, the wind’s not blowing now. Maybe it won’t be when we get to the coast. I’ve seen it like that, just as smooth as a lake, even on the Gulf. If there’s no wind they can’t sail and we can go to Cat Island or anywhere else we want to go.”
“If we had enough gas we could. But we don’t. There’s less than two gallons in the tank, really more like one and a half.”
“Dammit! How much will it take to get to the island?”
“I don’t know exactly how far it is from here, but it’s several miles off the coast. You can barely see it from the beaches in Gulfport on a clear day. It would be stupid to head out there without several gallons, even if it were calm enough to go.”
“Well, we just have to get some more, then, before we head out.”
“Yeah, but that may be risky. It means we’ve got to get to a road and find some in one of the cars abandoned there, or get some from someone along the river who has it.”
“There should be plenty of cars that still have gas in them. I mean, how many people have something that will run? A few, maybe, like us when we had the Harley, but still, as many cars as there are in the road everywhere, there’s bound to be some.”
“We should have looked at that last bridge crossing, I-59, but I know it can’t be too far to the I-10 bridge. At least it’s downriver. If we run out, we can paddle until we get there. But we ought to crash here a little while first. It beats sleeping on the ground. Besides, it would be safer to go up on the road in the early hours of morning, after midnight. Less chance of running into anybody that might be traveling the roads.”
Joey hadn’t realized how exhausted they both were until they stretched out on the after deck of the fishing boat, planning to nap two or three hours or so. When he woke up, it was pitch dark, and the buzz and chirp of night insects filled the swamp with background noise, punctuated by the much louder, almost maniacal screams of an owl somewhere nearby. He listened to it for a few seconds before shaking Zach by the shoulder to wake him up.
“Get up, man! I can’t believe we both passed out like that.”
“What time is?”
“Fuck if I know; probably almost midnight. We need to get going, though, if we’re going to go up on that Interstate looking for gas. We need to be outta there by daylight.”
“Let’s go, then. You’re not waiting on me. I didn’t even take my shoes off.”
When they were both situated in the Johnboat, Joey pulled the starter rope several times, cursing by the fifth time, but then the old Johnson came to life, sputtering at first like it always did before smoothing out and running normally.
“I just hope we have enough gas to get to where we can find more.”
“We probably do, don’t worry. That bridge can’t be more than a few miles away. I’m not worried about that as much as I’m worried about what a major pain in the ass it’s going to be to get up to the road. You saw the bridge at I-59. From what I remember from driving over it, the 10’s even higher, and there’s nothing but swamp underneath. The only good thing is that at least we’re on the East Pearl, so we’re close to the edge of the river basin and the edge of the swamp. I guess we’ll have to go as far as we can in the boat, and then wade or walk up the right of way until we get to higher ground.”
“That’s bullshit. There’s got to be an easier way to get gas than that. Somebody along the riverbank in that town you were talking about is bound to have some.”
“Yeah, and what are you going to offer them for it? We lost the money, even if money were something anybody would want now.”
“Who said anything about offering anything? Maybe we’ll just steal what we need.”
“And get shot? Fuck that. I say we make our way up that bridge and find some in a car. It might not be the easy way, but it’s safer.”
Joey finally relented, and by staying in the middle of the river, where a broad swath of moonlight reached the water to light their way, they found their way to the bridge a half hour after leaving the old fishing boat. Just as Zach had remembered, the bridge was a massive concrete structure—two of them, actually, running parallel just a short distance apart. The pilings were smooth and impossible to climb, and the bridge deck itself was nearly as high as the treetops. They would have to follow it east until they could find dry land and an embankment to climb up to the road. Fortunately, though, there was an arrow-straight canal running parallel to the pilings on one side, and the water in it was deep enough to permit navigation in the small Johnboat. Joey steered straight down the middle of it for what seemed like half a mile and finally they reached the end, a muddy bank overgrown with cattails and other aquatic vegetation.
“I told you it would be a pain in the ass,” Zach said, when Joey got out of the boat complaining about the mud, in which they both immediately sank past their ankles. “But hey, we’re gonna get free gas, so it’ll be worth it. How many shells have you got left for that shotgun?”
“No more, other than the eight rounds in the magazine. That’s all the Rasta dude had in the boat. I put the rest of them in after I shot at him when he got away.”
“Yeah, you mean after you blasted half a dozen rounds at shadows! I sure hope we don’t need them now.”
“Aw, fuck off! You already said I might have hit him and didn’t even know it. At least I didn’t lose my whole weapon! You let the rifle and that cool little carbine of Grant’s go to the bottom, you dumb shit!”
“Like that was my fault! You’re the asshole who couldn’t handle a boat in a little fast water. You’re the reason the island man got away in the first place and all our other shit, including the money, got lost.”
“Well, we don’t need him now or any of that other shit, do we? All the fuck we really need is gas. We know exactly where Jessica and Casey went, and I’m sure they’ve got everything we need on that boat. So let’s just focus on getting some gas and getting our asses out to that island!”
When they finally climbed the bank and stepped into the lanes of the Interstate, they were not surprised to find it littered with abandoned vehicles of every description. The glass and paint gleamed with muted reflections on the sides facing the moonlight while long shadows spilled onto the roadway on the dark sides. Other objects, more ominous than shadows, sprawled here and there among the cars after many days rotting, too gruesome for more than a glance. Joey and Zach gave them a wide berth as they looked for a raised pickup or SUV that would be easy to crawl beneath. Having no other means to get fuel out of a tank, they carried one of the flat-bladed screwdriver
s from the outboard’s tool kit, and a hatchet from the cabin that had a flat hammer surface opposite the blade. They didn’t have to go far to find a jacked-up redneck Ford F-150 with mud grip tires, but when Zach crawled under it to find a place to puncture the tank, he called back to Joey that someone had already beaten them to it.
“Motherfucking gas thieves!” Joey said with a laugh.
“Probably came here by boat, like us, looking for the easiest targets closest to the water.”
“Yeah, well, they couldn’t have gotten them all. I guess we keep walking.”
They continued east, ignoring sedans, economy cars, and diesel trucks, until they finally found a Lincoln Navigator with an untapped gas tank. Zach muttered obscenities as he looked for a good spot to place the screwdriver blade, but soon he had made a decent-sized hole. Joey slid the outboard fuel tank under the pouring gasoline until it was topped off, then they stepped away while the tank continued to drain onto the pavement.
“I wish I had a fucking match,” Joey said, before they started back with the gas.
“Hey, look! We’ve got company, Joey,” Zach whispered, pointing back to the bridge in the direction they had to go to get to the boat.
Joey felt a chill run down his spine as he turned and saw what Zach had seen first. He had expected to see one or two people, refugees like them, but instead it was a large group. Actually, he quickly realized it was a gang. They were young males and clearly urban rather than local country folk. All of them carried things in their hands that he could see in the moonlight: baseball bats, hatchets, axes, big knives…one even had what looked like a Samurai sword. He didn’t see any guns, but there were so many of them, maybe twelve or fifteen, that it didn’t matter. The men had spotted the two of them standing next to the Lincoln. Their ill intent was clear, even before they started running towards Zach and Joey with screams and what could only be described as battle cries. At the rate they were closing the distance, they would reach the end of the bridge before he and Zach could make it back to where they had left the boat.
Refuge: After the Collapse Page 17
