Bittersweet Homecoming; Surviving the Black--Book 3 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  "My name is Jeremy," I said, reaching out to shake her hand.

  "Joyce, my name's Joyce," she said, in a delicate drawl, dropping my hand quickly. It felt like ice. I reached over and turned up the heater.

  "I just cranked up the heater, sit in the starboard side seat, and you'll get most of the air from it," I said. "Let me know when you guys are warm enough, and we'll turn it down."

  I noticed Angus tried not to crowd Joyce, leaning to the side of his chair to avoid intruding into her space. Joyce just hunched over in her chair, trying to make herself small and invisible. There was a story there, but not one I would crack tonight.

  "Did you get something to eat before you came on duty?" Just when I was sure, they didn't intend to answer Angus did.

  "Yeah, some of that corn stuff Juanita cooked. She said we could eat all we wanted." Angus said that like he didn't really believe it.

  "Good, we have a lot of corn, and I doubt we can take it all back with us. Much better to carry it in our bellies than leaving it to ruin. So, eat up while we are on the boat," I said, sitting down at the helm and picking up the binoculars. The helm chair faced forward, so did the two elevated seats Joyce and Angus sat in behind me. The vent fan for the heater was loud in the small area, and hot air from the register flooded the room.

  It wouldn't take long before the hot air, and lack of sleep would make it tough to keep my eyes open, but I wanted to thaw Joyce out first.

  It took about 20 minutes to pass the Finley Bar light. I then spotted the red light of Desoto Front at mile marker 705.3 on the right bank. The light was another welcome sight, especially since the channel veered to the east bank and featured dikes on both sides of the channel, again.

  "I don't know about you, but I could sure use a cup of coffee about now," I said, into the stony silence flanking me. I knew Joyce and Angus remained in the wheelhouse with me, but no one could call them chatty.

  "Coffee," came a squeak from Joyce, disbelief in her voice.

  "Yeah, no cream or sugar, and it is just instant, but it serves the purpose," I said.

  "I'll get it, if you tell me where," Joyce stood up behind me, still squeezed against her chair.

  "You know the water needs to be boiled before drinking it, right?" I asked.

  "Kurt told us," Angus said.

  "Bring at least three cups water to a boil on the stove. The coffee is in the cabinet above the sink, and the cups are in the cupboard near the dishwasher. Everyone has agreed to limit it to one teaspoon of coffee crystals per mug. Put a spoonful in each cup, pour in the boiling water and voila, coffee. Not much but it should help us get through until dawn."

  "I'll go help," Angus said, following Joyce out of the wheelhouse at a very respectful distance.

  The second they left, I turned down the heater, got up from my seat, and walked the outside deck around the wheelhouse. Before I got back into my seat, I considered leaving the door open, but remembering the iciness in Joyce's hands, resisted the urge. It was 35-degrees outside. Cold and still clear. The sliver of moon was still high in the sky, even as the skies to the southeast showed a hint of the coming dawn.

  Angus and Joyce returned with mugs of coffee about the time we passed by the Desoto Front light. The first streaks of sunlight peeked over the eastern horizon. I cupped my coffee in my hands, enjoying the aroma. I wasn't even the slightest bit chilly, but the coffee mug and the scent were soothing, even if the first sip disappointed. It was still caffeine and didn't taste like swamp fungus. My tongue adjusted, and the second sip wasn't bad.

  Once I finished my coffee, I looked around and suggested someone should check the boats, not wanting to presume who would conduct the survey.

  Angus left Joyce and me alone in the wheelhouse. He returned about 15 minutes later.

  "We are still more than two hours from Memphis," I said. "Now the sun is out, two people can monitor the situation quite well. Either you or Angus should get some sleep, although I probably should have mentioned that before the coffee."

  "Sgt. Grady gave me this assignment, and I won't leave until he tells me to," Joyce said. Neither made any move to go.

  Right. Another issue we needed to resolve before we got to Memphis. That would be a discussion Rufus, and I would have in private.

  I turned off the wheelhouse auxiliary lighting and walked the narrow deck on this level. Why their attitude annoyed me wasn't clear. I knew Andy and Jules could read a map or chart and use a compass. Why Grady assigned people, who couldn't was irritating. I had expected much closer cooperation but should have known better. This just added to the burden and heartache of Razor's death.

  That left me hungry, irritated, and sorrowful. Even the coffee failed to push my grumpiness aside. I ate my emergency granola bar. It didn't do much for my irritation, nor my sadness, but it was fuel.

  It wasn't a huge deal, but I only had two bars left for the trip. Zeke had a few boxes left in the armory, but after that, we'd have to make do with jerky and dried fruit until someone made new ones.

  Granny promised she'd make oat bars for the security team next year after we harvested the sorghum and turned it into syrup. Honey and sorghum syrup were going to be the only renewable sweeteners available in Breckinridge Valley unless Jacob's experiments with sugar and fodder beets worked out.

  It wasn't just about the sweetness; we'd need to make alcohol for fuel eventually. There were other aspects to consider, as well. Beet greens were very healthy for humans to eat plus the crushed beets and sorghum stalks made great animal feed. We would just need to experiment with the different crops to determine which provided the best complete benefit for the effort and acreage.

  My grumpiness passed, thinking about a future problem that didn't involve combat.

  I monitored the chart, nudged the joystick that controlled the Cumberland and ignored Joyce and Angus. Everyone was tired, and we didn't know one another. The river kept spooling out in front of us.

  It also became clear that some miles were longer and took more time than others. The mile dots on the chart no longer followed the main channel. Another sign the Mississippi River was in charge. The US Army Corps of Engineers tried to tame it for nearly two centuries to no avail. Now the river was free again.

  As daylight took hold, people began moving around the two boats. Someone was on duty in the galley, because they sent up three bowls of corn mush. I thought it had less taste than library paste, but Angus and Joyce devoured theirs quickly. With a little salt, butter, and a bit of sorghum syrup, I might have relished it. As it was, I ate it to avoid setting a bad example. It was fuel. I knew our new cooks, Juanita and Lois, did all they could, they just didn't have the ingredients.

  The kid who brought the bowls was about 11 years old, and he waited patiently for me to finish before running back to the galley with the three bowls. Only a few minutes later, Allie came in to relieve me. She still had bed head but didn't care. After she spent most of last night with the very talkative Angus and Joyce, I could guess the struggle she had to stay awake.

  She looked at them both, saying, "You are relieved. Sgt. Grady is in the galley, and he'll give you your berthing assignments."

  Both nodded and left, leaving me with my mouth opened. "They wouldn't listen to me," I complained.

  "They will eventually. No need to rock the boat just yet. All of them feel they owe their lives to the sergeant, and they are probably right," Allie said.

  "Okay, I think that green light is the Armstrong Bar light. There should be a red one on the left around this bend called the Josie Harry Bar light. Once we are abreast the Josie light, we should be about 45 minutes from the Memphis harbor entrance.” Allie looked over my shoulder at the chart an took the binoculars to verify the location of the lights.

  “Looks right to me,” she said.

  “When we get to Memphis, your job will be to keep the ship moving upriver, use the Jersey Girl as a shield whenever you can. And don't get shot," I said with emphasis.

  "I don't in
tend to. I'll lie flat on the deck when we engage and only reach up to adjust the joystick when we need it," Allie said.

  "The damn sniper on the bridge is an issue. We may hang out under the bridge for a while to remove him. Joel isn't a bad shot, and he has been practicing more than me. Someone will have to go ashore to recon and ultimately neutralize any new sniper on that bridge. We need to be quick since we don't want to give the pirates much time to react," I said.

  "You should probably get to the galley before the whole plan is set, without you," Allie said. Something in her voice concerned me. She wasn't kidding.

  Now what?

  I went to check on Tom and Ben first. Tom was still sound asleep, but Ben was sitting up in bed, much to my relief.

  "How are you feeling?" I asked squatting on the floor between the two bunks, keeping my voice down to avoid rousing Tom.

  "My head is still a bit woozy, and my ribs hurt like hell."

  "Broken ribs suck," I said.

  "Did we get everyone out?"

  "Razor didn't make it," I confessed.

  "What happened?"

  "Razor got shot in the neck," I said.

  "What?"

  "A young boy with a shotgun," Tom said, sitting up. "The kid was walking to the privy with his finger on the trigger and the safety off. He came around the corner, Razor surprised him and the kid shot. I doubt he was aiming. The slug tore into Razor's throat. The kid dropped the gun and fell to the ground crying. It was a fluke. Play the scenario out 99 more times, and no one gets hurt."

  Tom took charge checking on Ben. Temperature, blood pressure, and flashlight in the eyes.

  "Well?" Ben asked.

  "Seems like you will live. I told the guys your hard head would be fine. Only real worry now is those busted ribs. At least those kicking you broke the lower set, it’ll hurt, but it isn’t likely to stab you anywhere vital. Let's get you up, and to the toilet, I don't want you to fall."

  I backed out of the cabin and went next door to check on Mike and Craig. Mike and Craig were eating in their cabin. Craig still had his injured leg lying straight on the bed, but he was sitting up with his good leg on the floor.

  "Never thought I'd miss the yellow mac and cheese," Mike said, spooning the corn mush into his mouth. "At least it had flavor."

  "Ben's awake, he is still woozy, but his biggest problem now is the busted ribs. That will be six long weeks of recovery."

  "Good news," said Craig.

  "Thank God," said Mike simultaneously.

  "Craig, how is your leg?"

  "Sore as hell, but I can tell it's healing," Craig said. "It itches something fierce. Tom says I can shower today. I'm really looking forward to it. But it can wait until we get through Memphis. What are you going to do about the sniper's nest on the bridge?"

  "Joel isn't a bad sniper," I started.

  "He's not a good one," countered Craig.

  "He is the best one we have who is mobile enough to check out the nest," I said. "He has been practicing since the power crashed and the rest of us haven't been."

  "True, if you let him out downstream of the bridge and he could walk or ninja a few hundred yards toward the I-40 bridge. Even Joel should be able to spot the guy and take him down with an easy shot," Mike said. I was tempted to send Mike instead since he had accompanied Craig on the last sniper hunt.

  "That is what Allie and I thought, too. I need to find out what Sgt. Grady is up to before we get much closer to the entrance to the Memphis harbor. Meet us in the galley when you can."

  "Joel, can you meet me in the galley?" I radioed.

  "Roger that."

  "Allie, how far are we from the harbor entrance?" I radioed.

  "About 5 miles."

  "Please hold us here until we settle on a plan," I radioed, hearing the throbbing of the engines reduced within seconds. Even expecting it, the change in motion caught me unprepared.

  Those gathered in the galley looked alarmed at the engine change.

  Sgt. Grady saw me immediately and met me at the door, saying, "I want to discuss where your men will be during the attack. Allie must remain at the wheelhouse and Joel in the engine room. Do you want one of your men to drive the patrol boat? I think one of your men should man the machine gun. Tom will standby as a medic."

  I pointed Grady toward a pair of seats and sat down. This was worse than I feared.

  "Sergeant, I was exhausted when we got underway last night. It's not an excuse, but I made some assumptions because of it that I need to correct, right now. I assumed your whole team, not just Andy's family and Jules, wanted to get to Breckinridge Valley. With Andy and Jules sponsoring you all, we'd take you in. If I misread your desires, I need to correct that immediately."

  I paused to allow Grady to say something. He was too experienced to talk without understanding where I was going.

  "We could just ferry you across the Mississippi River instead. We can drop you off near Memphis or return to Helena and drop you off farther south. We can gift you the weapons and ammo we gave you last night. You can also take as much corn as you can carry. My team will then continue with our main mission and return Jules, Andy, and his kids to the Valley."

  Grady's eyes narrowed as he looked at me. I doubt even a broom handle could make him sit any straighter. He still said nothing. When a man beside him started to talk, he put his hand out and silence reigned.

  I continued. "I'm even willing to give your group the Jersey Girl if you want to go somewhere else. What I am not willing to do is hand you control of this operation. While we need your input because you know your people better than we do, when I or any of my team asks them to do something, I expect them to do it. Not to tell me they only take orders from you."

  A pall of silence spread across the room, as people tuned in to our tense interaction. Andy and Jules both got up from where they sat on different sides of the room and walked in my direction. Grady waved them back, but they ignored him. The two men beside Grady and I got up without a word. They stood to the side, still in earshot but letting Jules and Andy take their place.

  "Rufus, we should have talked about this many miles ago," Andy said. "When the survivors from my bugout location in Arizona started walking this way, we were all going toward Breckinridge Valley. We agreed if we found a good place to stay, we'd consider it instead but barring that we'd keep walking. Over the months, new people joined us, some died, and others walked away. Despite that, we remained committed to getting to the Valley. My family won't turn back now, and from what I've seen in the past 1,500 miles, no one else in our group will find something better."

  "We've traveled too far together to splinter at this point," Jules added. "Without Jeremy's team, we'd still be in that corral, waiting for those creeps to kill us. He even lost a man during the rescue. Now we have transportation that has showers, food, laundry, flush toilets, and a machine gun. I call that a solid rescue and urge everyone to cooperate."

  I waited. Sgt. Grady had the next move.

  "Okay, what kind of threat are we facing," Grady asked.

  "The Memphis port was taken over by some riverboat captains after the CME,” I said. “They even have a refinery and barges filled with grain, rice, soybeans, coal, and who knows what else. When we came through here a few days ago, we gave them a huge black eye. This trip, I hope they ignore us but don't count on it. They had a sniper nest on the three-bridge cluster on our way down and have likely replaced the sniper. These towboats provide reasonable shooting platforms, but the vibrations from the engines and turbulence interfere with precision shooting. The patrol and dive boats are great if you need to go somewhere fast or to round up our disabled assailants. They are terrible in a gunfight; nobody can shoot straight on those boats.”

  “Okay, we may have a group of small boats trying to board us and a sniper,” Grady said. “Anything else?”

  “This group has a radio net. The really crappy part is we are so slow and the river loops around for so many miles, there is no way to sur
prise them. They can send people to intercept us almost anywhere for the next three hours. My guess is they will fight us, even though their best bet is to let us pass through unmolested."

  "They probably think we killed all their people, too," Joel added. "We didn't, but I doubt any of those we released returned to the Memphis harbor, yet. So, they probably think we killed more than 20 of their people."

  "You up for the sniper?" I asked.

  "Sure, it'll feel good to get some payback, not that these are the same kooks, but you know what I'm talking about," Joel said.

  "Yeah, check with Sgt. Grady and take one of his guys with you. Have someone put the gangway back up between the Jersey Girl and Cumberland."