Tony guffawed by the aft railing. “Burn.”
"Nevermind,” Byron said. “Just follow us in."
Reese dutifully followed Byron's lead and Intrepid split Tiberia’s wake as they reached the inner port. Reese well understood how Port Jefferson had survived the tsunami as they reached the far corner of the harbor and waved at National Guard troops who stood along the shore with lights to direct where to dock. The land on either side of the V-shaped harbor narrowed and rose up from the water.
Reese kept his eyes peeled for danger but saw nothing suspicious as they ghosted in, hailed by soldiers on the long wharf. The National Guard troops welcomed them warmly and assisted in tying off the lines cast over from Intrepid and Tiberia.
Tony practically jumped off the boat in order to get to dry land. He gave a hearty handshake to the first soldier, who walked up with a big grin on his face. Another man, with the Red Cross emblazoned on his arm, approached Reese and tilted back his camouflage helmet. "You in charge here?” he asked. "I'm Captain Blevins. Is this Tiberia?”
Reese shook his head. "No, this is Intrepid. Tiberia’s over there. Byron's the skipper." The medic nodded and hurried off, two camouflaged assistants in tow.
Reese accepted a hand to climb over the railing and stood on the wharf next to a small soldier in the ubiquitous digital camouflage pattern the others all wore. Where the others wore backpacks and helmets or rifles slung over their backs, the man who eyed Reese up and down had no helmet, his exposed, his short-cropped hair like a brush on his head. "I'm Lieutenant Hendricks.” He stuck out a hand.
"Reese Lavelle,” he said as he shook hands. “It's nice to meet you, lieutenant.”
The soldier gestured they walk toward the action on Tiberia, and Reese followed. "How long you guys been at sea?"
Reese shrugged as he took in the sights and smells all around them. Seawater mixed with diesel, and trash combined for a potent odor. It was a big change compared to the clean, fresh air of the open ocean.
"I'd say we’re five days out of Boston."
"Boston," Hendricks muttered as he stopped next to the gangplank someone had set up for easy access to Tiberia. "You sure don't sound like a Yankee.”
Reese couldn't help but grin. "You don't sound like a New Yorker, either. I'm from South Carolina—that's where I'm headed."
Lieutenant Hendricks grunted. "Pennsylvania. My unit got pulled up here to reinforce the Guard outside NYC. Been stationed here for the last ten days."
Reese watched the doctor and two medics hunch over Libby on the starboard bench. "Jo?"
She stepped back from the knot of people in the center of the boat and rushed on unsteady legs over the gangplank. She nodded at the lieutenant, shook hands and introduced herself briefly, then turned to Reese. "It's Libby—she was getting real sleepy just as we got here. Now she won't wake up."
"Is your friend sick?" asked Hendricks.
Jo turned to him and explained. "Well, yes—but not anything infectious. She’s diabetic and ran out of insulin some time ago."
The lieutenant nodded knowingly. "Doc, we got insulin at the sick bay?"
The doctor stood and allowed the two assistants to load Libby gently onto a stretcher. He put his hands on his hips and turned to look over his shoulder at the lieutenant, as if irritated at the interruption. "Yeah, we’re fine—we got plenty."
Reese took note of the hostility in the doctor’s voice. He glanced at the lieutenant who sported a wicked smirk on his face. He’d never served in the military, but even he knew a lieutenant couldn’t get away with that when talking to a captain. He narrowed his eyes and watched the scene.
Captain Blevins stepped across the gangplank and ignored Byron's machine gun barrage of questions. The two medics dutifully followed, like ducklings, and Byron got in line behind them all.
Reese caught Byron's arm and held him for a second. "Are you going with her and the doctors?"
Byron angrily shrugged out of Reese's grip. "Of course, I am. I'll catch up with you guys later."
"What about the boats?" Tony asked.
"You stay with them,” Byron ordered. He turned away and rushed to catch up to the soldiers as they headed uphill, deeper into Port Jefferson.
The lieutenant shrugged. “Doc’s a little rough around the edges. Come on, follow me,” he said. “I’ll give you a quick tour of the base, get you set up with a rack and some chow. There's hot showers if you want them," he called over his shoulder in a nonchalant fashion.
"Hot showers?" Tony asked. "Screw the boats, where are the showers?"
Hendricks laughed. "Don't worry, they're not going anywhere, and my men will make sure they’re protected. We haven't had hardly any problems with crime or disorder since we established our beachhead."
Reese followed along and mulled over the lieutenant’s words. "Established a beachhead?” Reese asked cautiously. “Sounds more like an invasion them a relief operation.”
Hendricks laughed again. "Sorry, just a habit. It's not like we’re conquering the place—but the process is the same whether you're in a war or not. Establish a perimeter, build the base, and then spread your influence out to provide assistance, however possible." He shook his head. "You should've seen it when we got here on Day Four. Man, what a mess.” He shook his head as he walked.
“That bad, huh?” asked Reese.
“Trash, busted up homes, broken boats—everything you can think of, all dumped right here where we’re standing. It looked like the waves scooped up the marinas and all the boats and everything tied up here, crunched it all up in a compactor, and dumped it on the edge of town. Took us most of last week just to clear everything out." He pointed to his right as they crossed the street. "Down there is barracks alley."
"Is that what all those rectangular tent things are?" asked Tony.
"Roger that," said Hendricks. "We got ‘em set up in an organized grid pattern, so some of the soldiers are stationed there, and others are stationed on the north, and the rest on the east side of the base. I heard Major Robertson is going to come up with a better name, but for now, it’s just Camp Echo."
"Why do they call it Camp Echo?" asked Reese.
Hendricks sighed. “We’re the fifth base established on Long Island. Now we’re the only one still operating outside of Alpha, way down near the southern tip. If you look over here on the left, you'll see the chow hall,” he said without missing a beat. “We got fresh food set up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You need something in between, just go in there and see the cook. He'll set you up with some MREs. If you need anything else, come find me—that's our Battalion headquarters, right there," Hendricks said as he pointed to another tent next to the large portable mess hall. “That’s where I work.”
They walked uphill toward the next intersection, and Hendricks stopped. “Go on in over here," he said and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to another group of rectangular tents. "That's processing for new arrivals. They’ll get you set up with a cot and a pass. Keep it on you at all times—we've got lanyards so you can just put ‘em around your neck like this one," he said as he lifted up an ID card that hung from a green strap around his own neck. "I only wear mine because I'm the liaison officer, but all civilians have to wear them around the neck. They’ll tell you all about it inside.”
"Once you're all checked in, I'll find you at the chow hall. It's kind of where everybody meets when they’re off duty. You'll see.” He stopped and looked around. “Well, if there’re no questions, I'll leave you to it. See you in a couple minutes." Hendricks started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. "Oh, almost forgot—you'll have to go to separate facilities for men and women," he said. "I know it seems silly in this day and age, especially after what's happened, but…” He shrugged. "The army is the army."
He wouldn't leave until Jo agreed and walked toward the big induction tent decorated with a banner across the entrance that read WOMEN. "I'll see you in two shakes of a jackalope’s tail,” she told Reese.
&nbs
p; “What?” he replied.
“What are we waiting for? I'm starving," Tony said with a grin on his face. He marched off toward the tent next to the one that Jo approached and disappeared into the entrance underneath a big sign that read MEN.
“Thanks a lot," Reese said. “I appreciate it.”
The lieutenant nodded, turned on his heel, and walked toward the mess tent. Reese continued on his way toward the induction tent for men and ducked under the flap into the darkened interior.
A single light glowed over a camp desk set up in the far corner, and Tony stood before two soldiers who sat at the desk with bored looks on their faces. They skimmed through papers attached to clipboards and rattled off instructions.
Reese stepped up behind Tony and waited his turn. Eventually, they handed Tony a card, a paper to sign, and instructed him to pick up the lanyard at the next station, across the tent. He’d be given further instructions there.
Reese went through the same process, gave his and stepped up for the same proceeding. "Hi, I‘m—”
“Name?" the clerk called out. When Reese didn't answer right away after the interruption, the man looked up from his sheet. "Name?" he said pointedly.
"Reese Lavelle."
"Residence?"
Reese rolled his eyes. "Charleston, South Carolina."
The clerk scribbled his note, then looked up under the glow of the single lamp that hung from the ceiling. “You're a long way from home."
"Yeah, actually it’s—“
The clerk looked down before Reese could finish his statement and announced the next bit of data required for the paper. "Age and marital status."
Reese grunted. "46, married."
"That your wife that just went in the tent over there?" he asked with a casual wave of his pencil.
Reese snorted. "No, my family’s still in South Carolina. That's where I was trying to get to, when we were—“
“And where were you when the tsunami hit?" the clerk asked.
"I was just trying to tell you that," Reese began.
"Where?” asked the soldier. He put his pencil down and looked at Reese for a second. "Look, buddy—this’ll go a lot faster for both of us if you just listen to the question and answer when I ask it. Got it? Just tell me what I asked for, then you can get over and meet your girlfriend or whoever that was and get some hot food. Okay? I've been doing this all day, and I'd like to get some sack time."
Reese bit back the scathing retort on his tongue and nodded. "Bar Harbor, Maine."
The clerk nodded, scribbled some more, looked up at him for a second then made one final note. He reached under the desk and pulled out a plastic card about the size of a credit card and slid it across the desk to Reese. "Here's your ID pass card. Take it over there to the next station like that other guy just did—they'll get you set up with the lanyard and give you instructions on where to find your bunk for the night. Chow hall’s just down the street to the right—“
"Yep, got it, thanks," Reese said, enjoying the shocked look on the man's face as he was interrupted. He stepped over, gathered his lanyard, and was given instructions to go to find his bunk in tent 7B. There he'd also find a change of clothes—if the size was not correct, he could find the quartermaster at the battalion commander’s tent in the morning and request an exchange.
For the most part, the second clerk informed him, no one had any problems except in the clothing assigned to them. It was a pretty standard size all around. Reese looked about average size to the clerk, so he had was informed that he’d probably find plenty of clothes to fit.
Reese stepped out of the tent and found Tony waiting impatiently just outside. "There you are, I was beginning to think that you wanted to marry one of those guys. Come on, I don’t know about you, but I could eat a dead horse right about now."
"You can go on ahead to the mess hall. I'm gonna go find the tent they assigned me—which one did you get? I got 7B."
"Hey, me too. Save me a bunk, will you?" Tony said with a wave as he turned and headed for the dining hall.
Reese waved back absently, then wandered down the avenue of identical tents and examined the signs above each one. He finally found 7B—the very last one on the street—and happened to glance out through the heavy chain-link fence set up just on the other side of his tent. In the distance, under the glow of a collection of arc lights, four armed National Guardsmen stood over at least a dozen people, who hacked and dug away at the ground with axes, picks, and shovels. As he watched, one of the guards stepped forward and gesticulated with his rifle to make the workers move to a different area.
"What in the world…?” Reese muttered as he narrowed his eyes.
"What you looking at, cowboy?" Jo called from the opposite side of the street. Startled, Reese almost walked into the side of the tent. He turned and grinned at her, then jogged over to stand next to her tent. "So you got 7A?" Reese asked with a nod toward the tent.
Jo scoffed and looked at the plastic card in her hand. "Looks like.” She slipped the green lanyard over her head and adjusted her long gray braid to fit through. She slipped the card into a clear plastic pocket that hung from the clip. "Don't see how this is going to be doing anybody much good, but if it gets me a roof over my head and a free meal—“
“Don’t forget the hot shower,” Reese added.
“Amen,” she replied. “I'll spin in circles and do an Irish jig if they want me to."
Reese grinned and clapped her on the back. "Sounds good to me. Don't make a big show of it, because there's a couple people watching us by the next tent, but when you get a chance," he said under his breath as they turned from the tents toward the mess hall tent. "Take a look behind us. What do you make of that?"
They took two steps, then Jo announced she needed to tie her shoe and turned sideways to take a knee. Reese glanced down and watched as she tied her shoe and surreptitiously took a glance at the end of the street through the chain-link fencing. Reese turned away and nodded a greeting at the two soldiers who watched them about 20 feet away as they sat in lawn chairs in front of tent 5B. The two men smoked cigarettes, the ends glowed red in the darkness, and one made a joke that caused the other to laugh. They turned away and continued to talk amongst themselves.
Jo stood and matched pace with Reese again as they headed to get food. "I don't know what that was over there…but it sure looked like a bunch of soldiers bossin’ around some civilians. We need to keep our eyes open, that's for sure," Jo muttered.
"Roger that," Reese said with a grimace.
“I’m still getting my shower,” she said seriously. “Ain’t no one gonna stop me, either.”
Chapter 9
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami scratched behind Kirk's year, and the cinnamon-colored vizsla leaned into her leg. His cropped tail wagged so fast his entire butt shook. She laughed at the dog’s sheer joy.
"Sometimes I wish we could be more like Kirk," Cami muttered.
Next to her, Marty snorted. He adjusted the wide-brimmed straw hat he wore and used his cane to poke about the ashes on the ground outside his house. "Well, you can scratch my belly, but my leg won't twitch like his will," Marty said.
Cami laughed even harder at the mental image.
A sound, the rough noise of an engine in distress, permeated the thick canopy of trees that surrounded Marty's house and Cami froze. That was the first engine anyone had heard in the neighborhood since the sheriff's last visit almost three days earlier. "You hear that?" she whispered.
Marty frowned at her. "Missy, I couldn't hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant. You know how old I am?"
Cami shushed him and waved her hand for silence. The sound was there, and then it wasn't. It flitted through the trees like the echo of a ghost just on the edge of her detection. She closed her eyes in concentration and tried to block the sound of birds chirping in the trees, the wind as i
t whispered through the pines, and the sound of someone hammering away at something on the other side of the neighborhood. The sharp crack of the hammer every time it hit wood echoed in a steady rhythm. Crack-crack-crack. Pause. Crack-crack-crack. Pause.
In the gap between hammer strokes, Cami's eyes snapped open. "There—I hear it again. It's getting louder—that's an engine. She turned, and her ears pinpointed the location of the sound. "Whoever it is, they’re outside the neighborhood…there,” she said as she pointed toward the trees. On the main road."
"Battle stations," Marty said. He turned abruptly away from her and shuffled back into the house. "Kirk—heel!” he snapped. The dog obeyed instantly and bolted from Cami’s side, ears forward and alert for danger as he followed his owner.
Cami sprinted across the side yard and glanced over her shoulder as she ran. No sign of the vehicle as she reached her back deck. "Amber! Mia! Somebody's coming!"
The back door opened and Amber stepped out, pistol in her hand. "Who? Where?" she asked as she scanned the tree line.
"The road," Cami said and pointed toward the street in front of their house. "You hear it?"
Amber cocked her head for a second. "An engine—a rough one at that. Sounds like that car’s on its last legs." She listened again. "It's getting closer—you're right, mom.”
"What is it?" Mia asked from a second-floor window.
"Lock the house down!” Cami said urgently. "We may have visitors. Somebody's driving a car and there headed right for the neighborhood."
"Boys!" Mia yelled as only a mother of young children can. The snap of her voice cut through the sounds of the backyard like a knife. Junior popped up above the harvested vegetable plants in the garden. Little Caleb emerged from behind the shed, both hands full of twigs, and covered in mud.
"Get inside now! Remember what we talked about?" Mia yelled. The boys dropped everything and sprinted for the back door without argument.
Cami drew her pistol and instructed Amber to get back inside and make sure all the doors were locked.
Broken Tide | Book 3 | Maelstrom Page 9
