Landfall: Islands in the Aftermath (The Pulse Series Book 4)

by Scott B. Williams

  Their work was hardly over though. The next job was to move anchors and mooring lines in preparation to reverse the haul-out operation. The two biggest anchors were buried ashore now, but they needed to move them out to seaward as far as the longest rodes would reach and set them so they could use them to pull the catamaran backwards into the water. This took another hour and half of hard work using the dinghy, but when they were done the two anchors were approximately 200 feet off the sterns at slight angles, and all the gear that needed to go back on board was stacked on the beach near the bows. They would begin loading it as soon as the boat was afloat again.

  “It’s going to be a lot easier going back in than it was coming out.”

  “Gravity is on our side this time, right Uncle Larry?”

  “You got it. All we’re waiting on now is the tide. We should eat while we have a chance, because we’re going to be plenty busy until we get well away from this island and all its reefs.”

  Tara was the only one among them with no appetite. While they were cooking fish and waiting on the tide, she paced back and forth across the island between the beached catamaran and the spot from which she’d last seen her daughter and her parents’ boat.

  “She’s been through hell already,” Larry said. “I hope this doesn’t send her off the deep end.”

  “She looks pretty determined to me,” Grant said. “After she broke down once in the dinghy, she’s been holding it together pretty well.”

  “That’s because this is different than when Rebecca was missing overboard at night. That was horrifying because the weather was so awful, it was pitch dark out, and Tara knew very well the odds of finding someone out there in that were slim to none,” Casey said.

  “Yeah, that’s a fact,” Larry said. “That we did was a bit of a miracle.”

  “She has more hope this time because it’s not the merciless ocean that has her daughter. It’s a man she can put a face on.”

  “A man who ought to be shot in the face!” Jessica said.

  “And he probably will,” Grant said. “If one of us doesn’t, Tara might.”

  The tide was sufficiently high to begin the process of relaunching the Casey Nicole about an hour after sunset. Going in backwards, more care had to be taken with the placement of the fenders to keep the rudders clear of the sand. As when they hauled out, Grant did most of the grinding on the winch, with Artie taking a turn here and there to give him a break. Larry was in the water with Tara and the girls this time, helping with the fenders and checking progress. Once the catamaran was afloat, the next step was to spin it around 180 degrees using the anchor rodes and a couple of extra long mooring lines Grant and Artie handled from the beach. It took some time to accomplish, but Larry said it was essential because of the reefs they had to get through. He wanted to go out bow first, using the anchor lines, but with the boat in position to sail away as soon as they were clear of danger.

  “It sure would be a good time to have that outboard that got lost,” he muttered.

  Grant said nothing. Jessica was standing right there and he knew the outboard went to the bottom of the Pearl River when Scully rammed the boat it was mounted on. Jessica’s ex-boyfriend, Joey, likely drowned there when it happened. Scully didn’t know for sure, but they’d never mentioned the incident to Jessica.

  They left one stern anchor ashore after the turning was complete and Grant stayed behind with the dinghy to pick it up and bring it out to the boat when he came. He was also going to pick up the last bow anchor once Larry cast off the final rode and sailed out to deep water. It made him nervous to watch the catamaran slowly pull away from the beach. If they got it stuck on the reef at high tide, getting it off again would be nearly impossible. He trusted Larry’s judgment, but he knew it was risky to attempt this in the dark. He understood that they needed to go after Russell as soon as possible though, so the risk was worth it. It wouldn’t do to give him more of a head start than he already had, even if the catamaran was a much faster boat than Tara’s monohull under most conditions. Even though Larry was relatively confident of the direction Russell would go, Grant knew there was always a chance he would do something really radical or unexpected. If he did sail straight for the Exumas like he wanted to do, he had to know that they would be coming after him as soon as they could relaunch the catamaran. He wouldn’t stay anywhere long, even if he believed it would take them several days to get underway and on his trail.

  Grant stood there waiting until the catamaran was as far out as it could go while still tethered to the beach. The rode off the stern was 250 feet in total, most of it five-eights-inch nylon rope. Larry didn’t want to risk getting it caught on the reef or some other bottom obstruction, so dropping it astern and letting Grant retrieve it in the dinghy was the safer option. Grant first pulled the anchor out of the sand and loaded it aboard, then piled the 25-foot length of chain on top of it and began pulling in the nylon until he had it all coiled on the floorboards. As he did this, he was watching the Casey Nicole as Larry and the crew pulled her out to the farthest anchor he’d set off the bow. So far it appeared they were in the clear. The mainsail and jib went up, and Grant held his breath as she slowly gained way and moved away from the island.

  He slid the dinghy into the water and jumped in, rowing hard to catch up. Larry had attached a small fender to the bitter end of the last rode so Grant could find it. He spotted it bobbing in the swell once he was well away from the island and adjusted his course to pick it up. It took him another ten minutes of hard work to pull the second rode into the dinghy and hoist the heavy anchor aboard, but once that was done, Grant was anxious to join the Casey Nicole. Larry was tacking back and forth approximately a half-mile north of the island to hold position well clear of the reefs, and now as Grant neared, the catamaran was hove-to and waiting. Grant put his back into the oars and made a beeline for the ship. They were free of Green Cay, and ready to begin their pursuit of the Sarah J.

  Sixteen

  RUSSELL HAD NO DOUBT that Larry and Tara would do everything in their power to launch the catamaran and come after him as soon as possible. How soon that would be, he wasn’t sure, but the fact that both masts were down and the tide was out when he left was reassuring. He knew they couldn’t set sail immediately, and doubted they could until late the next day, probably longer. That would give him time to get far from Green Cay, but now he had to decide where to go. He wished now he had not mentioned his friend on Staniel Cay to Larry or anyone. Richard wasn’t really a close friend, more like an acquaintance, but he had told Russell to stop by if he ever visited the Exumas. That was before the grid collapse, of course, but Russell still thought the invitation might stand. Richard was a diving instructor who knew the Exumas like the back of his hand. He would know the best anchorages in which to hide out for a while and he was already self-sufficient even before all this happened—living in an off-grid bungalow powered entirely by solar energy. It would be nice to find him and get his help, but now Russell deemed it too risky to go anywhere near Staniel Cay. When Larry and the rest of his crew on the catamaran set sail, they would go there first and they would search every possible anchorage deep enough to hide the 37-foot sloop. The catamaran, with even less draft than the keel-centerboard Tartan, could go anywhere he could and more.

  Russell had left Green Cay with the southeast wind close on the port bow until he was well clear of the island and its surrounding shoals and reefs. After the dinghy in pursuit had turned back to the beach, he had remained on that tack for another mile or so, and then he came about to sail east. He was sure Larry and the others were still watching at that point, and that it would convince them he was indeed heading to the Exumas. The wind was favorable for a reach to the middle of the popular chain and they would certainly believe that was his destination. But now he knew he had to think of an alternative. Russell really wanted to stay in the Bahamas, as he was convinced that was the best place to be considering the situation, but he did not want another encounter with that
crew. If they caught up with him after what he’d done, it was not going to end well for someone, and he was greatly outnumbered. He needed to buy some time to think, and that meant going somewhere he wouldn’t have to worry about constantly hiding out, at least for a few days until he could figure out a better option.

  The great thing about this well-kept Tartan 37 was that it had a powerful diesel engine. Larry said they had stopped at Green Cay to work on some minor problem with it; something about the cooling system, but that didn’t bother Russell. If it would run at all, he would use it if he needed it. If it overheated, so what? He’d either fix it later or do without it. But the main thing was that in the short term the engine would give him the ability to go into the wind, in a direction his pursuers would not be expecting. He would work out where as soon as he had time to look over the charts.

  There was also the matter of his female crewmember, confined for now in the forward cabin. Russell was going to have to talk to her at some point, to inform her of how it was going to be now that he was in charge of the Sarah J. He had no doubt that she would come around eventually, but now was not the time to argue. She could stay where she was until she had time to think about her lack of choices. Once they were in a place he felt was sufficiently remote that she would have no possibility of escape, he would give her a little more freedom. At just fourteen years old she couldn’t be too hard to persuade that her life going forward had to be in accordance with what he deemed best. That she still had hope of life at all she would eventually come to recognize was due to his mercy and protection. She would come to see him as her provider and surely realize he had been right all along to bring her with him.

  Russell figured the girl had been spoiled by a life of ease before the collapse. He didn’t know where her father was or why he wasn’t with them, but he could guess that Tara had probably cheated on him and then cleaned him out in the divorce. That was what all women like her did and Rebecca would have grown up thinking it was normal, probably doing the same herself one day. Tara was obviously spoiled by rich parents as well. The fact that they owned the yacht and cruised it to the Bahamas every winter proved that. She probably grew up thinking she was better than everybody else, especially guys like him, and Russell was used to being snubbed by women like her. But he’d shown her now. In this new world, her daddy’s money meant nothing, and Russell had used his brains to outsmart her and her egotistical boyfriend who thought he was such a hotshot sailor and boat builder. Russell couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as the thought about the two of them now, and how they must be absolutely freaking out trying to figure out how they were going to get that big plywood catamaran back in the water with the tide out. It was an image he found hilarious, and he would have given anything to see their faces and hear what they were saying—especially what they were saying about him right about now.

  And then there was Grant, that asshole who had shoved him. Russell wondered if Jessica still thought he was so great now, after seeing him fail to catch Tara’s boat and then turn tail and run back to the beach at the sound of a few shots that Russell wasn’t really aiming to hit anyone with. Russell knew he was a spoiled dickhead too, the kind of college boy whose parents had plenty of money. That was why Jessica liked him. And she was too stupid to even realize that none of that mattered any more. It was just as well that she was back there on Green Cay with him. The last thing Russell needed was a shallow, materialistic bitch that was in no way mentally or emotionally equipped to deal with the reality of the world as it was now. Thinking of all this, he realized he was much better off in the long run with Rebecca as a companion. She was still young and malleable enough to adapt; young enough to not think that she already had all the answers like those smug college kids who thought they were smarter and better than everyone else. No, Rebecca would get a real education. Russell would see to that. He was willing to bet she’d be eager to learn too, but if she weren’t, it would be easy enough to rid himself of her if it became necessary.

  One of the first things he would have to teach her was some respect. She had cursed and screamed at him when she realized what was going on, and had called him names he’d never even thought of before. That had lasted about a half hour, until she’d finally either grown tired of it or had yelled herself hoarse. It didn’t bother him too much anyway as long as he was at the helm with the companionway shut. He knew she would start up again when he tried to have any kind of interaction with her, but he was determined to set her straight and put a stop to it when she did.

  By the time the sun neared the horizon astern, Russell decided it was time to stop and study the charts so he could make some decisions. He didn’t want to be sailing blind into the night. He’d already learned from a quick glance at the chart book he found down below that there was a long line of shoals and reefs just to the north that stretched between Green Cay and the Exumas. But the color of the water around him told him he was in the clear and still in water too deep to anchor. He turned the bow up into the wind so he could simply drop the sails. He figured he had plenty of room to drift for an hour or so while he worked out a plan. He was hungry too and was looking forward to going through the provisions he knew were on board. Suddenly coming into possession of a large food supply was as huge as having the boat itself; especially considering how deprived his existence had been on Green Cay all those weeks alone.

  Russell knew the basics of how to make a sailboat go where he wanted it to and that was about all he cared about. Let the rich yachties and racer boys worry about all the finer points of sail trimming and tweaking. Dropping the sails to the deck was as easy as heaving-to, in his opinion, especially since he’d never learned how to do the latter. He wadded up the jib and strapped it down with a bungee cord someone had left on the bow pulpit, probably for that purpose, and likewise wrapped a piece of spare line around the main to loosely secure it to the boom. The wind was only ten knots or so and the sails weren’t going anywhere.

  This done, Russell stared over the side into the turquoise depths. He felt free again at last, out here in deep water far from the island that had been his prison for too long. The change was so abrupt that Russell almost had to pinch himself to make sure it was real. He was on a seaworthy, comfortable sailboat, out of sight of any land and free to go wherever in the hell he pleased. He made his way down the narrow side decks to the cockpit and then descended the companionway steps into the teak cabin he could now call home. Rebecca heard him enter and started screaming at him again through the forepeak door, ruining the pleasant ambiance of orange sunset light on vanished wood and polished brass.

  “LET ME OUT OF HERE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHERE ARE WE?”

  Russell walked forward to the door. She had opened the latch and was pushing against the rope that held it in place, but was only able to crack it about an inch.

  “When you chill out and calm down, I’ll let you out. But right now I’ve got my hands full.”

  “This is my grandpa’s boat! You’d better turn it around and take it back to my mom right now. Captain Larry will kill you if you don’t! Don’t think he won’t. He’s killed other people already!”

  “Captain Larry isn’t going to do anything, because his boat is on the beach with the rig down. You can forget about Captain Larry! I’m your captain now, Miss Rebecca, and we’re going to find ourselves a nice island where we can hang out on for a while and chill. You’ll be glad when you see, just wait.”

  “I will kill you myself, if Larry doesn’t! Just wait until you let me out of here!”

  “Why would I do that then?” Russell laughed. “If you’re going to kill me, I’d better keep you locked up for a while. I’m not ready to die today! This has been my luckiest day in a long time. I wouldn’t want to ruin it by dying. Now, I’m going to make myself something to eat. If you’re hungry, I’ll push something through the crack. But I’m not going to risk letting you out so you can kill me,” he laughed some more.

  “Screw you! Captain Larry should hav
e shot you dead the minute he first saw you!”

  Russell smiled at that astute observation. Of course he should have! What an idiot he and the rest of them were, to trust a total stranger in times like these. But if they had simply treated him better, none of this would have happened. If Larry had offered to take him aboard as crew to wherever they were going—not Florida—and if Jessica had just been a little nicer to him and given him a chance…. Oh well, in the end, he’d simply seized an opportunity when it presented itself. Anyone with half a brain would do the same. It was simply a matter of survival.

  Seventeen

  IF THE GIRL DIDN’T want to eat, Russell wasn’t going to force her. She’d get hungry soon enough and then she’d be asking for food. As the boat drifted under bare poles, he rummaged through the cabinets and cubbyholes in the galley and in the lockers under the bunks, taking a brief inventory of the stores. Compared to having nothing while stranded on the island, it was a windfall. Most of it consisted of canned goods and other non-perishables such as rice and oatmeal and several varieties of pasta. There were two large aluminum propane bottles mounted on the stern rail that supplied the gimbaled two-burner stove and oven, and when he tried the manual pump at the sink fresh water flowed into the cup he held under the tap. He downed the water but what he wanted was a drink to calm his nerves after all the excitement. Further searching yielded an unopened bottle of Scotch and two fifths of brandy squirreled away in another locker that contained engine spares and tools. He hoped that measly stash wasn’t the sum of the ship’s liquor stores, but deeper digging could wait until he found a good place to anchor and hide out for a while.