“First time for everything,” Byron replied without hesitation.
“Whatever you've got will become theirs,” warned the man in the lighthouse. “People are desperate, bud. They're starving in the streets. Things are really getting medieval among the survivors.”
Reese stood silent for a long moment as Intrepid sailed through the Atlantic. As he glanced over at Tiberia. Jo and Byron were deep in conversation. Whatever had caused Jo to interrupt the transmission had her worked up—she waved her arms at Byron and pointed across at Reese a few times. Their voices were raised, but they were just a bit too far out of range for him to understand what they said.
“Boy, she seems mad about something,” Tony observed.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to find out what Byron said to her…”
"We appreciate the warning,” Bryon said as Jo stalked toward the bow again. “But we don't have much of a choice. We’re running low on water."
Reese looked at Tony, who shrugged. "We’ve got plenty of water, and he knows it." Reese frowned. “What are you up to,” he muttered at Byron, “and why didn’t you tell me?”
“I got nothin’, man…he’s calling an audible,” offered Tony.
"I'm sorry to hear it,” replied the lighthouse operator, “but if your boats are seaworthy, you should take my advice and try to find supplies somewhere else. If you went down the coast a little ways, you might be able to find a safer harbor. Everything is pretty much wrecked—as far as I know—all along the seaboard. We really got smacked hard. Waves went right up our throats and practically destroyed Providence. Not much left, from what I hear.”
"Understood,” Byron said slowly. “But where would you suggest we go? We can't make it too much further without some fresh water."
"What's his deal?" asked Reese. Tony shrugged again and sat down on the aft bench out of Reese's line of sight. Warning bells went off in his mind. That was uncharacteristic of the younger man, too. Tony had an opinion about everything and didn't seem too shy about voicing it—even to Byron and Libby. He was the one who did most of the physical labor when he’d carried up the water from Intrepid’s hold to pass over to Tiberia. He knew better than anyone exactly how much water the two boats had.
"Hey, at the end of the day, you're the skipper of your own boat,” the lighthouse operator sighed. “My conscience is clean—I tried to get you to turn back. You’re just like all the others. No one ever listens to me…”
"There's nothing more I'd rather do than head home,” Byron said, “but we don't have any home left. And we’re running out of options—if we don't put in at Newport…I don't know where else to go."
"You might want to try Long Island," the lighthouse operator replied. "Been hearing rumors lately that the National Guard set up some kind police presence there."
"I would think the last place we’d want to go is New York," Byron said sarcastically.
"You'd think," agreed the lighthouse operator. "Maybe it was the shape of the Sound—I don't know—everything I'm hearing sounds like Long Island fared better than most places. I doubt it's the same with Manhattan, but…then again, I haven't been there. I don't know what to tell you, other than to stay away from here."
After another long pause, and another heated exchange between Jo and Byron at the helm of Tiberia, Reese watched Byron bring the matching radio handset to his mouth before his words broadcasted over the radio. "Appreciate the warning, friend. Tiberia out."
"Please," the radio operator from the lighthouse said. His voice cracked. "I'm begging you. Don't do this. I don't know how many more people I can watch die before I lose it. You have to stay away."
Byron stared straight ahead at Tiberia’s helm and continued to drive the boat toward Newport. Reese matched course and kept a weather eye on the radio. He never responded to the lighthouse, and eventually the radio operator from Newport spoke again.
"Well, at least I tried. Good luck to you both. Castle Hill, out."
The channel went dead, and Reese looked over at Byron again. "What was all that about?" he yelled.
In of an example of expert seamanship, Byron angled Tiberia’s bow and brought the sailboat within a dozen feet of Intrepid’s starboard side, then held the position as if they were glued together. "No sense in telling him that we've got plenty of supplies," Byron replied.
"Then why are we even trying to go there? Doesn't sound like a smart move to me," Reese replied. He watched as Jo fumed at the front of the boat, still heads together with Libby. "What's up with Jo?"
Byron didn't so much as glance at Intrepid. "She's your friend, how should I know?" he snapped.
"Ouch," muttered Tony.
"Look, I don't think it's a good idea for us to go to Newport,” Reese argued. “You heard what that guy said…”
Byron turn and looked at Reese. "We’re going, and this discussion is over. I suggest you get your boat ready for landfall."
"Then let me talk to Jo," Reese said. But it was too late. Byron had already spun Tiberia’s wheel and angled the other boat further away from Intrepid. He hooked up a line to hold the rudder steady, then moved toward the bow, hauled on some lines, and raised the jib. Tiberia picked up speed and pulled away from Intrepid as Reese fumed at the wheel.
"This doesn't make any sense," he said to himself. Reese turned and looked at Tony, stretched out on the aft bench. The younger man stared up at the mainsail and watched with a neutral expression on his face. "What's going on?" Reese demanded.
Tony gave a lackadaisical shrug. "I have no idea. I don't know how to sail…”
"That's not what I meant—why is your uncle so hard pressed to get to Newport? You know as well as I do, we have plenty of food and water to get us through another couple days sailing down the coast. The guy at the lighthouse just told us that nobody seems to make it to Newport and leave alive. So, what gives?"
Tony shrugged again. "Seriously, man, I don't know. You’ll have to ask him."
"I did," Reese insisted. “He raised the jib and took off."
“So, we gotta do the same thing? Otherwise we’ll get left behind…” Tony said as he leaned around Reese to site on Tiberia as it pulled five or six boat lengths ahead.
Reese clenched his jaw. "I'm not doing squat, and I'm not I'm certainly not sailing into a death trap if it means—“
The sound of Tony racking the shotgun made Reese freeze and sent a chill down his spine.
"I really don't want to do this, but my uncle made me promise."
Reese glanced over one shoulder and saw Tony at the aft rail with the shotgun in both hands. It was pointed out to sea, but the threat remained.
"You don't want to do this, Tony. This isn't you."
Anguish played across the younger man's face. He frowned. "I know, but I don't have a choice, do I? This is a family matter."
"You guys have family in Newport? Why didn’t he just say so? Trust me—I understand when it comes to family. I'm doing everything I can to get home to my wife and kid, and I promised to help you guys in whatever way I can in exchange for a ride south."
Tony nodded. "I appreciate that. I don't how to sail and we'd still be way back up by Boston instead of getting ready to sail into Rhode Island if you hadn't been with us." Tony shook his head. "Everything's just…crazy. But he says we gotta go to Newport, so we gotta go."
Reese planted his feet behind the helm and stared straight ahead. "And what if I choose not to follow?"
Tony sighed heavily. "Uncle Byron said you might try that. I'm supposed to shoot you, but I really don't want to."
Reese closed his eyes. "If you shoot me, there’d be no one left to sail this boat—you and I both know that you can't really do it."
"Well…you're probably right. But I can drop the sail, and then Uncle Byron will just circle back and get me. That's what the radio’s for."
Reese tightened his grip on the wheel. For a moment, the thought occurred to him to spin the wheel hard over and try to knock Tony off balance enough to make him ei
ther lose the shotgun or for Reese to take control of it.
"Come on man, just raise the sail and let's get on with it."
"You don't sound like you want to go to Newport either," Reese said solemnly. But he put the autopilot rope on the wheel, nonetheless. He moved forward and took careful note of how Tony watched him, ready to snap the shotgun around in an instant. As he loosened the halyard to raise the jib in front of the mast, he frowned.
"Why are we doing this?"
"Like I said,” Tony replied glumly, “I don't know. And you're right, I really don't want to go to Newport—especially after that guy in the lighthouse told us how bad it was."
The radio crackled. "Tony? What's going on?"
Tony walked over to the radio and picked it up, his eyes on Reese. "It's fine,” he said into the mic. “We had to have a discussion. We'll catch up."
Reese yanked hard on the halyard as he pulled the jib up and the sail snapped taut in the wind. He tied it off quickly and move back to the helm as Intrepid surged forward. Reese manned the helm in silence for the next hour as they caught up and matched speeds with Tiberia.
The two sailboats continued their course straight for Newport, and it wasn't long after that before Tony spotted the lighthouse with his binoculars. "That's gotta be it,” he warned. “Not as big as I thought.”
Reese picked up the radio. "Tiberia, Intrepid. We have the lighthouse in sight."
"Good. Follow my lead."
"For the record, I think this is a bad idea," Reese tried.
"For the record, I'm not concerned with what you think. Follow me, or you'll face the consequences. And, might I add, so will your friend."
Reese stared across the distance between the two boats and found Jo next to Libby at Tiberia’s bow. He squinted. Did the older woman have a gun trained on Jo? With the way Byron had acted so far, he wouldn't put such a shady move beyond him, but Reese seriously thought Libby was a better person.
He snapped his mouth shut and slammed the radio back in the receiver. Part of him hoped the stupid thing broke.
"Just follow along,” Tony said. “Nobody's going to get hurt."
Reese turned and glared at the younger man so that Tony backed up on unsteady legs and almost raised the shotgun. "You don't know that! If what that guy at the lighthouse says is true, we could be sailing right into our graves. And the way you and your uncle are acting, I don't know if I trust either one of you as far as I can spit."
Tony frowned. "You're the one we can't trust!" he snapped.
"Says the guy holding a shotgun at my back while his uncle threatens my friend’s life," retorted Reese. "Don't act all high and mighty with me, kid—your uncle might be dead if it hadn't been for Jo."
Tony's bravado crumbled before Reese's eyes, and he lowered the shotgun and sat down. "It's not my fault, okay? I don't want any part of this. I just want to go home."
Reese saw his opening as he kept one eye on the lighthouse in the distance. “Look…you and me both. I'm hoping that this is just a momentary hiccup…but I don't know…your uncle’s just acting…weird."
Tony snorted. "This is normal for him. He's always been, well…gruff."
"Well,” Reese groused, “if he gets us all killed, I'm coming back to haunt you."
No one said a word until they came within about half a mile of Newport. The destruction caused by the tsunami was just like Maine and Boston…complete. Every building that stood along the shore just two weeks ago now lay either in ruins or stripped bare to the foundation. Piles of timber, broken pieces of boats and homes—even cars—all choked the coastline. But several barges had been stacked up just outside the harbor. They crawled with people who were attempting to clear a path through the wreckage to Newport, and Providence beyond.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," the voice from the lighthouse warned.
"Hey, I can see him!” Tony said, the binoculars glued to his face. "The guy in the lighthouse. He's outside looking at us and waving." Tony waved back with one arm.
"You guys seem like you're okay people. Please…turn back. You don't have much time."
"He's running around the other side of the lighthouse…” Tony reported.
Reese gripped the wheel tight, his head on a swivel. His eyes didn't rest in one spot for long as he searched out threats that might come from the tangle of wreckage along the shore. He couldn't tell where someone might speed out from any one of the larger piles of debris and yet remain hidden from anyone who approached from the open water. His skin crawled as he contemplated what would happen in the next few minutes.
"Too late!" the guy in the lighthouse reported. "They're getting ready to spring the trap! Why didn't you listen to me?"
The sail above Reese's head snapped and a tiny hole appeared. "What—?” he said a split second before the resounding crack from a rifle rolled across the water from the shore.
"They're shooting at us!” Tony cried. He ran forward and grabbed the radio. "They're shooting at us!" he repeated
"I can see that! Keep going, we've got to make it to shore. Maybe we can—“ several more shots erupted from the shoreline, and Byron stopped transmitting. For a split second, Reese worried the old man had been shot, then looked across the water and saw Byron was busy relaying orders to Jo and Libby as he spun Tiberia’s wheel and attempted to go into evasive maneuvers.
Reese cursed, and spun his wheel in the opposite direction to avoid ramming Tiberia as the other sailboat suddenly crossed his bow. “Duck! The boom’s coming around," Reese warned just in time as the boom swung about over their heads to fill with wind as they completed their unexpected tacking maneuver.
Tony yelled in surprise and latched onto the aft railing as he dropped to the bench, his hand wrapped tight around the binoculars. The shotgun clattered across the deck and came to rest at Reese's feet.
Reese spun the wheel again, and the boom zipped back overhead to its original position. The sails snapped back into place, and Reese brought the ship on the opposite tack relative to Tiberia. They'd crossed paths and crossed paths again like a pair of scissors. "What are you doing?" Reese yelled across the Byron. "A little heads up next time!" The rifle shots continued from shore, and more holes appeared in the sail above his head. "We gotta get outta here," he said to Tony.
"We can’t!” Tony replied, his face green. Without saying another word, he turned and puked over the aft railing.
Reese looked down at the shotgun at his feet and thought about ending the situation once and for all.
"The island just ahead—it's a little further down the coast, but it looks like we can go around the backside and get out of range of these shooters. Follow me!" Byron ordered.
As Reese listened to the radio, Tony recovered his composure and snatched the shotgun from the deck. Reese clenched his teeth and adjusted their course as far as he dared to bring them out of range of the people on shore. He couldn't escape the feeling that they were being funneled.
The obvious route into the harbor was the one they'd originally tried, straight down the open channel. But as soon as the shots erupted from shore, they really only had one choice: west. If they turned east, they’d run straight into the peninsula that the lighthouse sat upon. And they'd be running with the prevailing winds, which would make them lose space to maneuver even faster.
Their only option was to either turn and head south—back out to sea—which Byron seemed suicidally opposed to, or to run west along the shore. Reese leaned around the mast and eyed the small rocky island Byron aimed for. He didn't like the idea of only one option, but before he could voice his thoughts, his fears came to life.
"Get on the radio and warn Byron!" Reese ordered. "There's a speedboat coming around the south end of that island! Your uncle drove us right into a trap!"
"I tried to warn you,” warned the lighthouse. “Head south—it’s your only chance! They don't have a lot of gas, so they won't chase you!”
"I know!" Reese shouted into the wind.
Tony
relayed the warning, but Byron didn't care. "It doesn't matter, we've got to try to make it to shore."
Reese snatched the radio from Tony's hand. "If those guys have any kind of weapons on that boat, we’re sitting ducks!"
Byron didn't answer, so Reese had Tony hold the wheel. "What are you doing?" the younger man asked suspiciously as he cradled the shotgun with his other arm.
"Your uncle’s gonna get us killed. The only way we can do this is if we add some speed."
"We won't be able to outrun that speedboat no matter what we do," Tony replied. “We’re on sailboats, man."
"I know that, Tony, I know that," Reese growled as he snapped the halyards and ran up the spinnaker. The huge, white, umbrella-shaped sail blossomed in front of the mast, and Intrepid surged forward. Reese tied off the halyards and raced back to the helm. The boat heeled sharply, and Tony once again found himself wrapped around the railing in an attempt to keep from falling overboard.
Intrepid quickened her pace and easily caught up to Tiberia, then passed the slower sailboat. Byron shouted something, but Reese ignored him. He was convinced the only way to escape the threat was to close the distance with the speedboat before they were ready and force them to circle around behind them, wasting precious fuel. Thus far, the lighthouse operator had not steered them wrong and had given them good advice. If what he said was true about the attackers’ limited fuel, Reese hoped that they would be unwilling to waste too much gas to chase down two sailboats. He put the radio to his mouth. "Throw on all the sail you can! Our only hope is to split up."
"We’re not splitting up! Tony, take command!" Byron ordered.
"Listen to me!" Reese hissed into the radio. "The guy in the lighthouse said they don’t have a lot of gas—they're not going to try to chase both of us. There's still a chance that one of us might be able to get away if we split up. I'm not saying we leave each other behind, just make a gap enough that they'll have to choose which boat to chase! We gotta make this as hard as possible on them so they give up quick!"
Broken Tide | Book 3 | Maelstrom Page 6
