Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2)

by R. E. McDermott

  Hughes had conceded the point and placed her in charge of organizing the dependents. Delighted to have a representative with ‘the captain’s ear,’ the wives responded enthusiastically, and Laura was presently engaged in planning classes for the children as well as learning as much as she could about shipboard routine to see where the women’s skill sets might be most useful.

  As a veterinarian, she was also the closest thing they had to a doctor and was already treating minor injuries, earning her the nickname of ‘Doc’ from both the Coasties and the Pecos Trader crewmen. Hughes was proud of Laura, but a bit uneasy. This was a dynamic they’d never before experienced in their twenty years of marriage, and he wasn’t completely sure he liked it.

  He turned his attention back to the group and cleared his throat.

  “I talked with Captain Wellesley on the VHF a couple of hours ago,” Hughes said. “They’re stripping all the trapped tows of everything that might possibly be of use. He figures three days minimum before they head this way. He’s gonna check in with us every day with a progress report.”

  “Which gives us some time to try to gather in some of our folks,” Gowan said. “The crew is getting restless, Cap.” Both Howell and Martin nodded agreement.

  Hughes sighed and sat back in his chair. Things had been tense since the rescue of his own family and the unexpected skirmish with the escaped convicts ashore. They’d all been on high alert since then, as well as helping Kinsey prepare for his mission to Baton Rouge. He knew his crew was anxious about their own families, and rightfully so, but he just couldn’t figure out how to send out shore parties and protect the ship simultaneously.

  “The problem is intel,” Torres said. “They got it; we don’t. We got no idea how many people they have and how they’re spread out, but they can watch us easy enough. We scared ’em away this morning with the air cannon, but they’re probably back by now, and there’s a hundred places to hide across the river. They’ll just be more careful.”

  “That’s my concern,” Hughes said. “They already saw Kinsey leave, so they know we’re down a boat and two shooters. If they see the police boat leave, loaded with a shore party, I’m afraid they might be tempted to hit us when we’re the weakest.”

  “Well, we can’t just SIT here,” Gowan said. “Most everyone’s got family out there, and with these assholes pretending to be the law, who knows what’s happening.”

  Hughes started to respond, but Torres spoke first. “Maybe we can send out a party without them seeing it.”

  “How?” Hughes asked. “At night? Y’all have night-vision glasses, so what makes you think the cons haven’t looted police and sheriff’s armories. They might have it too.”

  Torres shook his head. “Nope. I’m talking broad daylight. We’re anchored with the bow upstream, so they can’t see the starboard side from the opposite bank. What if we launch the starboard lifeboat and go around the island, keeping the ship between the shore party and any observers on the opposite side of the river? If we’re slick enough, they won’t even know anyone left.”

  Hughes stroked his chin. They were anchored in what was known locally as the Sun Lower Anchorage, directly across from the Sun Oil Company docks. An inlet off the main channel of the river, the secondary ‘oxbow’ channel continued inland perhaps a mile and then made a U-turn, rejoining the main channel of the Neches about a half mile upstream of their present location. The mouth of the downstream inlet had been dredged to the same depth as the main river channel, both to give loaded tankers a place to turn around in the narrow river and to anchor when fogbound or awaiting a berth. Nestled between the hairpin turn of the secondary channel and the main channel was a low marshy island and, at the slightly higher third of the island nearest the main channel, a thick stand of Chinese tallow trees and brush.

  Hughes shook his head. “They’ll hear the engine and see the boat when it comes out the upper inlet. It’s only a half mile away and the boat’s bright orange, for God’s sake.”

  “It’s bright orange now,” Torres said, “but it doesn’t HAVE to be. And as far as the noise, I think we can mask the noise of the lifeboat engine as well as giving any peeping toms something to worry about. With any luck, they won’t even know anyone left.”

  “That might work once,” Georgia Howell said, “but we have over a dozen crewmen with families in the area. No way we’re gonna find everyone and get them back with one shore party, so how are we going to handle that?”

  “How about a collection point?” Gowan suggested. “We take enough food and water to feed people a few days, then head upstream and find a place to hole up. That way we can just leave a few guys up there to find and collect folks, then bring ’em back as a group, or maybe groups. In fact, we could probably use the yacht club just north of the I-10 bridge. It might take a couple of trips, but that’s better and a whole lot less obvious than sending out parties every day.”

  Hughes nodded. “Might work. In fact, it sounds like our best bet.”

  “I’ll do it,” Gowan said. “Me and—”

  “No way,” Hughes said, “we need you here.”

  Gowan reddened. “Dammit, Jordan, it was my idea.”

  “And it’s a good one, but you and Rich have a hundred things working no one else can handle, at least easily. I’m sending Georgia and whoever she wants along, along with some of the Coasties for security.” Hughes turned to Torres. “That is, if you agree.”

  Torres shrugged. “It’s not perfect, but it’s probably the best option. We’ll make it work, but I sure wouldn’t send less than two.”

  “I still think I should go. I know where the yacht club is,” Gowan said lamely.

  Georgia Howell grinned. “Let’s see. It’s on the river just upstream of the I-10 bridge. I think I can find it, Dan. I did pass the navigation part of my license exam you know.”

  “I know you’re worried about Trixie, Dan,” Hughes said, “but sending Georgia is the right choice. It’s not like we’re standing navigation watches or handling cargo. The second mate and I can handle any deck-related stuff in her absence, but I need you here to help me figure out how we’re going to make a ship built to accommodate twenty-five people house four times that many.”

  Gowan nodded sullen acceptance, and Hughes looked around. “Well, if that’s it, let’s make it happen.”

  Howell was the first to stand. “I’ll head down to the paint locker and see what we have to redecorate the lifeboat.”

  M/V Pecos Trader

  Sun Lower Anchorage

  Neches River

  Near Nederland, Texas

  Day 28, 5:45 p.m.

  Chief Mate Georgia Howell looked at the starboard lifeboat and raised her voice to be heard over the racket of the power saw. “That looks like crap.”

  Beside her, Hughes nodded agreement. “That it does, but Torres is right. It will be much harder to spot.”

  The previously bright orange enclosed lifeboat was now a collage of dull greens, grays, and browns of differing shades, some original from the can, and others mixed to yield over a dozen different hues. The paint was applied randomly in irregular splotches to help break up the outline of the boat. In the middle of the river, it would still be quite visibly a boat, but if Howell hugged the far bank, the boat would be considerably harder to spot against the brush, marsh grass, and mud flats bordering the riverbank in this area.

  “You all set?” Hughes asked.

  “We are from my side. We’re just waiting on Dan.”

  She nodded to the boat, where the end of a reciprocating saw blade poked out of the fiberglass canopy, doing a jittering dance in time to the raucous roar as a cut line appeared behind it. They watched as the line traced a narrow rectangle, then the noise stopped and the saw blade disappeared back inside the canopy. There was a dull thud as something struck the inside of the canopy and the rectangle of fiberglass popped out and landed on the deck at their feet. A neat hole framed Gowan’s sweaty face.

  “Whadda ya think, Geo
rgia?” Gowan asked. “Maybe four firing ports like this on each side?”

  Howell nodded. “That should do it, just so we’re not completely blind.”

  “Rich is down in the engine room, cutting up some steel plate,” Gowan said. “We’ll manhandle it through the lifeboat door in sections and rig it to the inside of the canopy. We can do the same around the conning position. It might not stop everything, but it should offer considerably more protection than fiberglass.”

  “Thanks, Dan,” Howell said.

  “Think nothing of it.” Gowan grinned. “Besides we don’t have time to train a new mate.” He laughed as she grinned back and shot him the finger.

  “How long, Dan?” Hughes asked.

  “An hour, two max,” Gowan said.

  Hughes nodded and turned back to Georgia Howell. “You and Torres all squared away?”

  “Yeah. Twilight’s at 8:20, and he’ll start raising hell at eight. That’ll cover our engine noise and give us twenty minutes to get around the island and ready to scoot out the upstream mouth of the inlet. He’ll lay it on heavy again right at 8:20 and we’ll make our run for it then. Between him distracting any watchers, fading light, and our new paint job, I don’t think we’ll have any problem. We’ll slip around the bend into the McFadden Cutoff and hide among the reserve fleet ships overnight, then head upriver at first light. At that point, even if our engine noise carries, it’ll be coming from well upriver and they won’t connect it with Pecos Trader.”

  Hughes nodded again. It was the best plan possible under the circumstances, allowing the boat the chance of escaping unnoticed while there was still enough light to make it to a safe haven for the night. He marveled again at just how dark a moonless night was in this new blacked-out world. There would be absolutely no references for Howell to use to navigate through the darkness, and if her own boat tried to use a searchlight, it would be a beacon to any watchers. He said a silent prayer of thanks the mothballed ships of the US Maritime Administration Ready Reserve Fleet were clustered together at anchor just around a bend in the river.

  “I wish we had enough night-vision equipment to give you a set,” Hughes said.

  Howell shrugged. “Me too, but we don’t, and you’ll need it more here if you’re attacked, because you know they may come at night. They’re likely terrified of those machine guns. Anyway, it’s like Torres said, our best protection is invisibility. If we have to fight it out with anyone, we’re screwed, and if they have a boat, it’s not like we can outrun them in a six-knot lifeboat.”

  Hughes hesitated. “Maybe we should rethink this. We could delay a day and set up the collection point with the fast rescue boat and then send the lifeboat to pick up people after you’ve rounded them up.”

  “You know that won’t work, Cap. The rescue boat can’t carry enough supplies, and besides, the cons have seen it. If it disappears, they’ll put two and two together and start looking for it. You made the right decision.”

  “It’s hard to know what the right decision is when all of the options suck and any one of them might get people killed,” Hughes said, almost to himself, then louder, “But be that as it may, we have to get it done. You need anything else we CAN provide?”

  “I don’t think so. The boat’s loaded with food and water, and I’m all set crew wise. Everybody volunteered, so I had ’em draw straws. I’m taking Jimmy and Pete, and I have a list of addresses and directions for all the families within a twenty-mile radius and a map with the locations marked. That’s seven families, including Jimmy’s and Pete’s.”

  “Any heartburn about that?”

  “Some, but everyone understands we’re doing the best we can. Truthfully, I’m not quite sure how successful we’re going to be with the twenty-mile radius, but I figure we’ll play that by ear. I’m bringing as much gasoline as we can find containers for and figure we’ll have to find transportation ashore. I’ll hit the closest families first. If they have wheels, we’ll give ’em some gas and let ’em make their own way to the collection point while we continue to the other addresses. And if they have more than one set of wheels and someone willing to help, we’ll enlist them to help spread the word and contact as many crew families as possible.” She shrugged. “So I guess we’re as ready as we can be.”

  Hughes nodded. “Good plan. Did Dan talk to you?”

  Howell made a face. “Yeah, Trixie’s on the list, though I didn’t really count her as one of the families. I mean, I thought the divorce was final.” She shook her head. “Though with Trixie, I guess that didn’t make much difference one way or another. How a smart guy like Dan can be so stupid about a woman, God only knows.”

  Hughes shrugged. “Like they say, love is blind. And listen, bring her along if you find her and she wants to come. We owe that to Dan, but if she’s not right where she’s supposed to be—”

  Howell snorted. “Not something you have to worry about, Cap. And if we don’t find her, it’s on me, not you. I know you and Dan go back a long way.”

  “Fifteen years, give or take,” Hughes said, then changed the subject. “How about the Coasties?”

  “I’m taking Jones and Alvarez. They volunteered, and Jones at least has some experience with the cons from when you rescued Laura and the girls.” She added, “And Torres says Alvarez is a good shot.”

  “High praise, coming from Torres,” Hughes said.

  Howell laughed. “Actually, what he said was ‘Alvarez is almost as good as me.’”

  ***

  Hughes stood at the rail on the starboard side of the deckhouse, staring down to where the newly camouflaged lifeboat floated beside the ship. Behind him on the port side of the ship, he heard the roar of powerful outboards as Torres sped away from the ship at full throttle, in full view of any possible watchers. Georgia Howell heard it as well, and she looked up and waved to Hughes before stepping through the door in the rear of the enclosed lifeboat. He heard the growl of the starter then the more subdued sputter of the lifeboat engine, and watched Howell move the boat away from the ship and up the inlet, hugging the grassy shore and keeping the bulk of Pecos Trader between her boat and any watchers on the far bank. He murmured a prayer for his crew’s safety and moved across the ship to watch Torres’ show.

  Hughes got to the port side to find the former sheriff’s patrol boat in midstream, blasting upriver at full throttle, already a quarter mile away. As he watched in the fading light, the boat turned toward the opposite bank and then downstream before throttling back to idle noisily along the far bank, as if in search of something. He smiled as the Coastie manning the M240 sent a short burst of automatic fire into the opposite bank.

  ***

  Bolton lay prone on the concrete dock, peeping upriver over the twelve-inch-square creosoted timber that bordered the dock’s edge. “What the hell is he doin’?”

  “Lookin’ for us, I suspect,” his partner said, then laughed. “But it looks like he ain’t got a clue.”

  Both men flinched and ducked down behind the timber as the heavy machine gun fired.

  “Looks like he’s just shootin’ at any place he thinks we might be,” Bolton said.

  The other man was pressing himself into the concrete so hard his cheek was turning red. “Should we haul ass?”

  Bolton shook his head. “He ain’t that far away, and this is a long dock. If he sees us and cranks that boat up, he’d be even with us before we could get away, and that machine gun will chew us up. He’s just guessin’ where to shoot, so our best bet is to keep our heads down until he leaves.”

  ***

  Hughes watched as Torres cruised down the far riverbank, punctuating his progress with bursts of machine-gun fire at random targets. At 8:20 p.m. on the dot, he reversed course and roared full throttle back to where he’d started, then retraced his previous route downriver, his gunner firing sustained bursts at more regular intervals. That should keep their heads down if anything will, Hughes thought.

  Light was fading fast, and in ten minutes, the op
posite bank was almost invisible. Hughes heard the engine noise increase and grow nearer, then decrease as Torres throttled back and edged up to the boat’s mooring point at the bottom of Pecos Trader’s port accommodation ladder. Hughes watched the Coasties secure the boat and scramble up the ladder to the main deck.

  “Hear anything from Georgia yet?” Torres asked.

  “Not yet,” Hughes said. “It may take a while to—”

  His radio crackled. “Mate to Captain Hughes. Do you copy? Over.”

  Hughes keyed the mic. “Go ahead, Mate. I copy.”

  “Captain, I’m on the bow and I checked the anchor chain like you asked. Everything is fine,” Howell said, using the prearranged code to let Hughes know they were safely sheltered behind a cluster of mothballed vessels and tied off to one of the big ships’ anchor chains.

  “Thank you, Mate. Now get some rest. You have a busy day tomorrow. Over,” Hughes said.

  “Roger that. Mate out.”

  Chapter Seven

  Intracoastal Waterway

  8 Miles West of Morgan City, Louisiana

  Day 26, 4:25 p.m.

  Kinsey flipped a page in the chart booklet and nodded to himself before speaking to Bollinger over the muted roar of the twin outboards.

  “Shut her down a minute, Bollinger. We need to strategize a bit.”

  Bollinger pulled back on the throttles, careful not to cut speed too fast so the trailer didn’t plow into them. As they drifted in mid-channel, the outboards idling, Kinsey laid the chart booklet on the console.

  “That channel we just intersected goes north to Calumet and south straight to the Gulf, so I figure we’re here,” he pointed at the chart, “less than ten miles west of Morgan City, way ahead of schedule. I think we need to adjust our plan. We’re getting into a more populated area, and the natives we’ve seen so far didn’t look too friendly. I’d just as soon not run into a large group of them.”