Feral Nation Series: Books 1-3: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series Boxed Set

by Scott B. Williams

  Jonathan was all too happy to stop as well, not because he was tired, but because he was dying to do some fishing here in the Everglades. Eric figured it was a good opportunity to acquaint him with the kayak and give him a few pointers on nighttime ops, so once the anchor was down the two of them offloaded the Klepper. They crossed the short distance to shore and then paddled into the mouth of a wide tidal creek winding through the mangroves to empty into the Gulf.

  “You’re going to have to be smoother than that,” Eric told him, as Jonathan paddled with a choppy stroke that made little splashes with every dip of the paddle blades.

  “I know, man. I’m just getting the feel of it.”

  “When we set out for real up that river, the slightest splash could get us killed.”

  “Gotcha, dude. Don’t worry about me. I know how to be quiet.”

  Eric trusted that he would get it, and by the time they returned to the boat, he was satisfied that Jonathan could handle it. The kid had also proven his prowess as a fisherman once again, quickly hooking a couple of nice mangrove snappers for their dinner. The Catalina 25 didn’t have much of a galley, but there was a portable propane grill designed to use in the cockpit, and Eric quickly got it going after finding a half-full disposable fuel bottle for it. Fresh fish was a welcome change from the dehydrated rations he carried in the kayak.

  After estimating the distance to Fort Myers using the map images stored in his smartphone, Eric said they needed to be underway by 0300 in the morning. He planned to make the passage well offshore, keeping out of sight of land throughout the following daylight hours, and then arrive in the nearby area late the following night.

  “That only gives us about five hours to sleep, but that’s better than not stopping here at all. Try not to waste it. We can rotate watches through the day tomorrow while we’re sailing, but tomorrow night is going to be a long one once we head for the river.”

  “So where are we going to get off the boat? Are we going to anchor somewhere like this and then paddle in from there?”

  “No, we won’t risk sailing in close enough to anchor. We’ll just heave-to a couple miles of the coast and go from there. Wherever Gypsy ends up, when and if someone finds her, we’ll be long gone. Now get some sleep! I’ll show you the route I have in mind tomorrow. Nothing’s set in stone though until we get there. There are just too many variables to waste time worrying about it now.”

  Eric woke to the alarm beeps from his watch ten minutes before he planned to get underway at 0300. He had never been addicted to caffeine so he had no use for long morning rituals of coffee drinking and other time wasters to start his day. He was used to sleeping in short intervals when necessary, and had trained himself to shut down and fall asleep the minute he hit the sack and likewise to wake up ready to rock and roll. Jonathan, on the other hand, slept through the barely-audible alarm and Eric didn’t bother him as he hauled in the anchor himself and set the main and jib. As soon as Gypsy heeled over and began to make way, however, Jonathan was on deck, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

  “Sorry man, I guess I was pretty wiped out.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Sleep another two if you need it. Once we’re in the kayak, there’s not going to be anymore sleeping underway.”

  “I figured that. I still want to know how we’re going to get around into the river though, if the whole entrance is blocked off and guarded.”

  “I’m betting that what they’re trying to block is regular boat traffic. That doesn’t apply to us in the Klepper. They’ll have the navigable channel blocked, sure, but we only need six inches of water to float and we can pick up the kayak and carry it overland where we have to. Here, take a look at this:”

  Eric powered up his smartphone and scrolled through his map images until he got to the one that showed the lower Caloosahatchee River. He wished he had a closer view, with more detail, but was grateful for what he did have considering the situation. He’d downloaded the view of that area only because he knew he would be going to his father’s place at some point, whether he found Megan at home or not. He’d already studied the imagery he had, looking for possible ways around the reported blockade. None of the options were great. The Fort Myers area was heavily developed almost everywhere on the waterfront, but there was one intriguing possibility that might work.

  “See that long point there on the south side of the river mouth? If those folks we talked to yesterday on the sailboat were able to see that the entrance was blocked from where they passed it, I’m betting that the barricade is located there, from the tip of that point to the closest adjacent point on the north shore. That’s what I would do, if I were attempting to restrict boat traffic. It’s as much a deterrent as anything else, because anyone approaching from either the north or the south can’t miss it once they’re inside of Sanibel Island,” Eric pointed. “What I’m looking at is this dark area, farther south on the wider part of that point, where this little cove cuts in. It looks to me like that’s either marsh or possibly mangroves, probably with plenty of small channels running part of the way into them. If we hit it in the middle of the night, we can probably paddle or drag the kayak across and enter the river again upstream of the barricade.”

  “It looks like we’ll still be cutting pretty close to it. You think they’ll have people guarding it at night?”

  “We should assume so, yeah. We have no way of knowing who’s behind this, and whether they are regular citizens, authorities of some kind, or thugs. The best bet is to avoid all contact with them. So yeah, we’ll be close, but we’ll have the advantage because they won’t be expecting anyone to go around back like that. If we were as lucky as I was the night I came in, we’ll have rain, but I don’t see a cloud in the sky this morning, so I’m not counting on it.”

  “Well, it is south Florida, so it could change a half dozen times before we get there.”

  Eric knew he was right, but he wasn’t going to bet on foul weather to help them out. Getting around the reported barricade was the first obstacle, but Eric knew they would have to be stealthy for the entire stretch of the Caloosahatchee. He hadn’t been to the lower reaches of the river by boat in several years, but he knew it was a densely populated area, at least until farther upriver, where Bart’s boatyard was located. The river blockade would be even more problematic when it came time to leave, if things went as planned and Eric could procure a proper vessel for the voyage he had in mind. That was too far out of the realm of the present to spend much time dwelling on it though. He focused on the horizon ahead and all around them as they sailed north, keeping an eye out for ships and other boats as they paralleled the coast far enough off to be just beyond sight of land.

  Fourteen

  ERIC GRADUALLY ADJUSTED HIS heading by mid-afternoon, when he calculated they were well past Cape Romano. By sunset he’d angled in close enough that the tall condominiums and hotels of Naples were clearly visible on the horizon. The southeast wind had held out all day and they were still making good time. If nothing changed, they’d be close enough to Fort Myers to launch the kayak in three or four hours. That would allow enough time to sneak in to shore and assess the situation, and if all was clear, make some distance upriver before daybreak. But just like when he’d arrived at Jupiter Inlet in the predawn darkness, Eric planned to be holed up in a secure hideaway before first light.

  “It looks to be about 15 or 20 miles from the mouth of the river up to where we can expect the urban build-up to give way to countryside. You can add at least five miles to that from where we’re going to get off.”

  “Dude, that’s a long way to paddle in one night. Can we do that?”

  “If paddling was all we had to do, sure. The Klepper’s a slow barge, but we can still average about three and half miles an hour. Paddling is not the hard part though. First, we’ve got to get around that barricade.”

  Two more hours found them closing in on Sanibel Island, now dead ahead and visible on the horizon in the low ambient light from the stars an
d a quarter moon. The skies were still clear, so any chance of bad weather to conceal their approach was highly unlikely. That wasn’t altogether a bad thing, however. This Gulf coast area was trickier at night than his landfall at Jupiter Inlet. Dangerous shoals and exposed sandbars were everywhere here, and even with GPS and electronic charts it was a challenging area to navigate without local knowledge. Eric was relying on all his senses now, listening for breakers and straining to see the outlines of buoys and channel markers as he steered towards the opening between Sanibel and the mainland.

  Fort Myers Beach, two miles off to starboard, would normally be glittering with brightly lit buildings, but tonight there were only scattered clusters of dim light here and there, marking the locations of survivors lucky enough to have generators or solar-powered battery banks. Seeing these signs of life ashore, Eric decided it was time to heave-to and ready the kayak. With Jonathan’s help, he lifted the hull over the lifelines and climbed into it to tie it off, and then began stuffing his gear into the bow and stern ends as Jonathan passed him the sealed dry bags. Getting everything situated was more of a challenge than when they’d unloaded it in the calm waters off Jonathan’s campsite. The two to three foot chop was causing the sailboat to pitch and roll, the kayak slamming against it as Eric held it off with one hand while moving the gear with the other. When it was all finally situated, he had Jonathan pass him the two M4s, which he slid into the spaces on either side of his seat in the stern before sitting down to assemble the two take-apart paddles.

  “Okay, you’re all clear to board. Let’s do this!”

  Eric was paddling as soon as Jonathan was seated, wanting to get away from the sailboat before it damaged the kayak. With the jib aback, the main sheeted in to the centerline and the tiller lashed hard to leeward, the Catalina 25 couldn’t sail, but would slowly drift away downwind until it eventually washed ashore. From where they got off, Eric was sure that wouldn’t be anywhere nearby. The boat would likely pass to the south of Sanibel Island and end up in the open Gulf. It had served its purpose, but he was glad to be rid of it and happy to be back in the kayak. The motion was gentler in the Klepper despite its smaller size, as its lighter weight allowed it to give with the seas rather than resist them. By the time Eric got it moving at hull speed, Jonathan was beginning to help from the bow seat; trying to match Eric’s rhythm and so they could synchronize their strokes.

  “You can pass me one of those M4s whenever you like, dude. I probably should have one up here with me, since I’m in the front and all.”

  “They’re good where they are right now, besides, you’ve got that revolver. Just focus on paddling! If we run into trouble way out here, which I doubt we will, we’ll have time to get ready for it.”

  “Whatever. I just wanna do my part, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know, so paddle! That’s the part we’ve both gotta do right now.”

  As soon as the two of them were in sync with their strokes, Jonathan’s efforts helped Eric maintain an easy cruising speed. Using the foot-controlled rudder pedals that were available only to the stern paddler, Eric was able to counteract the effects of the quartering seas and wind so they didn’t have to waste energy with correction strokes. He was aiming the bow directly at the middle of the short causeway that connected Sanibel Island to the mainland, where a high overpass spanned the channel that led north into the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway and Pine Island Sound beyond. The river mouth would then be on the right, about two and a half miles to the north of the bridge crossing. Once they were beyond the span, he hoped to be able to evaluate the feasibility of his plan to get around the river blockade.

  Eric was satisfied with their timing as they glided silently beneath a lower section of the bridge well outside the main channel. At just after 2200 hours, it was late enough that most people ashore would probably be settled in for the night, but still early enough to allow for problems and delays. He kept to the west side of the channel to maintain plenty of distance between them and a small marina just north of the bridge, but the docks and buildings behind them were dark and quiet. The shoreline just past it opened up into a small, dark cove dotted with mangrove islands. It was this area that had caught Eric’s attention when he’d studied his maps and satellite images, as it was a pocket of undeveloped land in the middle of the long point that reached to the south side of the river mouth. If things were as they’d appeared here, he planned to cross this uninhabited area and enter the river upstream of the barricade.

  “Just put your paddle down for a minute and let’s drift,” Eric whispered. They were in protected waters now, out of the wind, so it was a good place for him to stop and reconnoiter with the night vision monocular. Once they were in the shallow cove, he doubted they’d encounter any other boats, but remembering the shooting from the patrol boat in North Palm Beach, Eric knew they couldn’t be too careful. From where they were entering the cove, they wouldn’t be able to see the blockade that the man in the sailboat had reported, but Eric took him at his word that it was there. He didn’t want to risk paddling farther north just to have a look, nor waste time backtracking here afterwards to get around it when they could just get started now.

  “The canal network that I showed you on the satellite image earlier is on the other side of the point there, just north of this small cove,” Eric pointed, before he started paddling again. “There’s a creek that leads across into the development and it might be possible to paddle through it to the other side, but it would put us way too close to anyone that might be in the houses and boats that are probably there. We’re going to have to do this the hard way and cross through the mangroves and marsh on this side of the development.”

  Eric knew it wouldn’t be easy going, and probably not even possible if he were alone. Getting the loaded kayak through the clusters of mangrove roots wouldn’t be feasible without unloading it first. With Jonathan’s help though, that would go faster and he was sure the two of them could work it through one way or another.

  When they reached the cove after crossing to the east side of the main channel, they soon found themselves in water so shallow that their paddle blades dug into the soft mud bottom with every stroke. Before they even reached the mangroves, they had to get out and drag the boat, sinking nearly knee-deep in the foul-smelling tidal muck with every step. It was brutally hard work and as soon as they reached the concealment of the trees, Eric whispered that they could take a short break. He looked at his watch. A full hour had passed since they’d passed under the bridge, and they hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet.

  “That mud sucks, dude.”

  “Yeah, well dragging the boat through those mangroves is going to suck even more, but at least it doesn’t look like they go very far. There’s probably marsh and more mud on the other side though, and then there’s the road going out to the point that we’ll have to cross.”

  “What if we can’t get through? We sure don’t want to get halfway in the middle of this shit and have to turn around and go back to find another way!”

  “Of course not. That’s why you’re going to stay here and guard the boat while I go have a look and check it out. No matter how long I’m gone; you wait here until I get back. Got it?”

  “Sure, man. I’m cool.”

  “I’m leaving the other rifle in the boat,” Eric said, as he picked up his M4. “Don’t fuck with it!”

  Eric was entrusting everything he had to the kid, but he felt confident he could do so now. If he was wrong, Jonathan could be long gone and impossible to find by the time he got back, but Eric often relied on his ability to read people and he had faith in his new temporary partner. He was also pretty sure that the kid realized the seriousness of what they were doing here and that he would indeed stay quiet. Eric didn’t relish the idea of dragging the kayak into that thicket and back out again any more than Jonathan did, so it made sense to do some recon first. He wanted to get a look at the river on the other side of the point, and make sure they could indeed relaunch
and paddle on in the direction of their destination once they were across.

  Half wading and half clambering over root clusters, Eric wormed his way through the mangroves until he emerged in a grassy marsh, just as he’d expected. A huge splash in the black water ten feet ahead of him brought him to a momentary halt, but the startled gator wasn’t a threat; it was simply trying to get out of his way. He hit a stretch of waist-deep water and then the swamp began to give way to higher ground as he approached the road. Crouching in the tall grass at the edge of the right-of-way, Eric paused to listen. He could hear the hum of generators just a short distance to the north, telling him that the point was surely occupied. The stretch of roadway that he could see was dark and deserted though, and satisfied that no one was around, Eric quickly sprinted across, stopping as soon as he reached the cover of the tall grass on the other side. There was more marsh and mangrove forest between him and the river, and it took a combination of wading, climbing and swimming to finally emerge on the northwest side of the point, where he at last had an unobstructed view of the broad Caloosahatchee.

  Sweeping the shoreline with his monocular, Eric could see a cluster of commercial fishing vessels anchored in the river just north of the point. He couldn’t quite see the river mouth from where he stood, but he was willing to bet that those boats were just inside the reported barricade. If so, it could be that local civilians had banded together to keep traffic out of the river. There was nothing obstructing the channel farther upstream that he could see, but here and there along both banks there were indicators of people in the form of generator-powered lights. The river itself was quiet though, deserted but for the group of anchored vessels. From where he stood, Eric felt it was possible to slip through the city and continue upstream in the kayak, but it had taken him another half hour just to push through to here from where he’d left Jonathan. It would take nearly as long to get back, and then probably twice as long again for the two of them to get the kayak and gear across without making undue noise. Eric didn’t like it, but he figured it would be after 0200 before they were paddling again. That would leave only four hours of darkness to paddle upriver—not enough time to get out of the sprawling city lining its banks.