"No can do, one-one-six—we got a date with the Chesapeake. Trying to get home to Baltimore. My friends here are headed to South Carolina after that."
"South Carolina?" the pilot asked. Another long pause ensued.
Reese busied himself making ready to raise sail. Eventually the pilot returned to the airwaves as the helicopter looped around in an even wider circle. It was almost too hard to see the rescue diver in the doorway. But Reese waved again anyway.
"Hurricane Rafael is a Cat 3, almost Cat 4 now, Tiberia. Looks like landfall’s gonna be somewhere between North and South Carolina, about four or five days from now. If you're headed that way, be advised you’ll be entering some rough weather. It's gonna be a bad one."
"Well, that explains why the navy’s steaming out of Norfork, doesn't it?" Byron said sourly.
"Roger that, Tiberia, things are crazy all over the world right now—the navy can't take a chance on having ships out of the fight."
"Out of the fight?” Byron asked, “who’re we fighting?"
"It's not exactly like we’re fighting anyone,” the pilot replied, “but the whole world is fighting someone. It's like a world war erupted in the last two weeks—between the Middle East, Asia, and Europe…everything’s gone sideways."
"What are we supposed to do?" Reese yelled to Byron.
Byron relayed the message.
"Get out of that lagoon for starters," the pilot ordered. "And take yourself offshore a few miles. The navy’s sweeping everything along the coast, and anybody that puts up resistance gets leveled. They’re on a wartime footing, Tiberia, and not taking any lip. Hampton isn't there anymore," the pilot added.
"Where’s Hampton?" asked Jo.
"It's a city near Norfork," Reese said, distracted as he watched the helicopter. “I guess he means the navy left Norfork and someone started taking pot shots at them, like those idiots in New York City. If people are trying to take over and control towns in the power vacuum after the tsunami, taking reckless shots at a warship is probably a way to gain street credit or something," Reese said. He shrugged. "I have no idea why someone would fire at ships with actual cannons on board…"
"So, you're saying the navy fired back?"
"No, but that's what he’s saying," Reese replied as he pointed at the helicopter. "If they’re on a war footing, then anything considered a threat might be fair game…" Reese looked at the machine gun mounted to the foredeck. "That means we need to get some tarp or something and cover that bad boy up—last thing I need is for you to get an itchy trigger finger with an aircraft carrier off the port bow."
Jo laughed. "Trust me, I ain’t shootin’ at a warship. Them things look meaner than a live armadillo with a flame thrower."
Reese looked at her for a second. “I...what?”
"Thanks for the heads up, Coast Guard,” Byron continued, cutting off Jo’s explanation. “We’ll get underway and clear out in a minute."
"Be advised, Tiberia, Rafael’s no laughing matter. If you're serious about heading for South Carolina, you need to do so with all haste and be ashore before it hits. The landfall predictions are not nearly as accurate now that the national hurricane center’s been wiped out."
“Where’s that, then?” asked Jo.
Reese sighed. “Miami.” The pressure to leave had built to the point he found it hard to breathe. He circled his hand in the air over his head, to signal Byron to wrap things up. It was time to go.
Byron nodded and put the radio back to his mouth. "Roger that, Coast Guard one one six. Thanks for the heads up. Clear skies," Byron replied. "Tiberia out."
"Calm seas, Tiberia, and a good breeze at your back. Coast Guard Rescue one one six, out."
"Well, that was exciting," Tony said as he lowered his binoculars and waved one final time at the helicopter. The pilot turned and banked, then took the orange and white aircraft straight down the coast heading south.
"Exciting is hardly the word I would use," Jo said. "Did you hear what he said about that hurricane?"
"I heard enough about the navy to make me want to move faster," Byron replied. "All right, all hands on deck—let's get this pig in the water and get out of here!"
The next ten minutes were a flurry of activity as Libby, Tony, and Byron scrambled across Tiberia’s deck to undo the lines that tied her not only to Intrepid, but the stump of a tree on the submerged sandbar.
Reese positioned Jo in Intrepid’s cockpit to man the wheel while he scrambled along the port side and pulled all the lines back aboard. With a final bump, Intrepid pulled away from the stump and floated free.
"You ready?" Reese asked as he braced himself against Intrepid’s foredeck and put both feet against Tiberia’s starboard bow.
"Ready as we'll ever be," Byron called out. "Do it."
Reese grunted with the effort and pushed with all his might. Slowly, at first, then inch by inch, Tiberia moved away from Intrepid as Reese's legs extended. Byron dropped the outboard behind the transom and started the engine. A few seconds later, Tiberia pulled leisurely away from Intrepid and began a slow, tight circle to spin on its keel.
"Okay, our turn," Reese said as he got up and grabbed a gaff and threw a line toward the other boat. Tony grabbed it from the aft end of Tiberia, and as they completed the circle and Byron targeted the mouth of the channel, the line went taught—which pulled Intrepid’s bow away from the sandbar.
"Sounds like were crunching on something!" Jo called out from the cockpit.
Reese held tight to the rope and lashed it to an available cleat on the foredeck before he scrambled back to the cockpit. "Oh, that should be okay…sounds like the keel’s draggin’ on some sand. They're gonna pull us free in a second.”
With a shudder, Reese's words rang true. Intrepid popped free of the sand and spun faster as Tiberia gained momentum with the outflowing water. Gordon's Pond had filled at high tide, but the peak had passed, and the tide was already beginning to run out.
"Isn’t the water supposed to go the other way at high tide?" Jo asked as she pointed to the current, visible as little eddies of leaves and dust and oil on the surface.
"It is,” replied Reese, “but we've passed the high-water mark—the tide’s already starting to ebb. That's good news," he added.
"How's that? I thought you said when the water goes out, the boat will hit the bottom?"
Reese grinned as he adjusted their course slightly. "Yeah, but that's not until the end of low tide. As the tide’s going out, we’ll get sucked along with it, so it'll help pull us out to the open water. We just have to make sure we stay right in the middle of the channel.”
When Reese had judged Intrepid far enough away from the sandbar to safely use the outboard, he kicked it to life, had Jo hold the wheel steady, then ran forward and untied the rope that attached them like an umbilical to Tiberia. Tony did the same aboard the other sailboat before he tossed his end into the water. Reese pulled the rope back and coiled it on the deck as Intrepid motored slowly behind its sister ship.
By the time he got back to the cockpit, they were already halfway through the now invisible channel. He looked to starboard, toward the south, and watched the silent empty sentinel of Fire Control Tower 6 drift by at a sedate pace. "Wonder how long that thing’s gonna remain standing? Another good storm this way’ll probably bring it down."
"Well, won't be any different than the rest of the country that got wiped out by the tsunami, I suppose…" Jo muttered. "But there's something sad about seein’ a tower that stood there since World War II be taken out like this. It's shameful in a way...”
"As long as we’re not taken out in the same manner, I can live with that," Reese said as he clenched his jaw. The last few yards proved to be the trickiest. The mouth of the channel had filled with silt overnight, and as a result Intrepid’s keel plowed right through it with a sickening grinding sound that seemed to go on forever. Their forward momentum slowed to the point Reese had to open the outboard motor up to full throttle just to get them through
.
“Wahoo!” Reese hollered as Intrepid broke free and surged forward through the light chop.
"Hoo boy," Jo said, "you sure know how to keep a girl on the edge of her seat…" She wiped sweat from her face. "I didn't think we were gonna make it…"
Reese laughed, a necessary release of tension. He wiped the sweat from his own face and dried his hands on his shorts. "You didn't think we were going to make it?" He laughed again. “Tiberia must have a much shorter keel…they’re way out there already.”
"Well, what’re we waiting for? Let's raise the sail and get going!" Jo said.
Reese looked down at her and smiled. "I didn't know you were so gung-ho to be back on the water, what with us staring down the barrel of a hurricane."
"I’m not, I'm just hungry—and Libby's got breakfast waiting for us over there," Jo said as she pointed at Tiberia, now a hundred yards ahead and moving further offshore under a billowy white mainsail.
Reese laughed. "Now you're talking!" He picked up the mainsail halyard. "Ready to raise sail?"
Jo grabbed the line as it coiled on the deck below Reese's hands and smiled under the wide brim of her campaign hat. "Haul away!"
Chapter 22
Haslet Forest Preserve
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami swooped around the corner of the tent and covered everything to the left, while John followed suit at her shoulder and covered their right. They both froze at the entrance to the tent. Instead of finding prisoners, or armed raiders hoarding over supplies of loot, they found two long rows of cots arranged along the outer walls of the tent.
Injured men, in various stages of treatment, lay on the cots—most unconscious. Blood-splattered bandages littered the floor and a pile of medical supplies had been crudely stacked in the far right corner. The oppressive heat inside the tent, mixed with the smells of vomit, blood, and excrement made Cami look away for fear she'd throw up.
"Oh—that is nasty," John gagged. He lowered his weapon.
"Don't shoot!" the man in the closest cot pleaded. He lifted his bandaged arms up and turned his face away.
“Please, no..." a man on the other side of the tent said.
"It hurts...somebody, help me..." a third whined piteously.
Unable to proceed any further, Cami was reluctant to leave. "She's got to be in the other tent."
John took aim at the man who'd raised his hands, half-propped up on the cot and swaddled in bloodied bandages. "We can't just leave them..."
Others took up the cry of ‘don't shoot,’ or begged for help. Cami looked at John. "That's what they would do—slaughter the wounded and the innocent."
"None of these guys are innocent," John growled. "You know what they did at Rolling Hills, what they wanted to do in our neighborhood..."
"I'm not going to have any part in shooting unarmed men, even if they are the scum of the earth," Cami said as she spat on the ground. "I'm here to get my daughter, not kill people laying in bed—that's what they do."
John lowered his weapon reluctantly. He looked at Cami long and hard. "We’re going to regret this decision, mark my words."
"We'll deal with that bridge when we come to it. Come on," Cami said as she turned him around and they marched out of the tent.
"She's gotta be in that tent," Cami whispered as she motioned toward the other large tent, about ten feet away from the first one.
They crouch-walked with their weapons up and ready across the short distance and moved to the front of the second tent. Behind them, Rufus laughed and hooted as he continued to blast away at the parked vehicles.
Cami looked at John, and he nodded. "Same as before?"
A tingling crept over every square inch of Cami's body. Her daughter was on the other side of the canvas flap, she knew it. “Yes...let's not shoot my daughter, okay?"
John grinned. "I'll try."
Cami counted down to three, then they pulled the tent flap back and barged in. Unlike the first tent, the second had the back flaps tied securely, creating a dark environment. Sunlight flared into the tent from the open main flap, illuminating Amber, who sat in a metal chair in the middle of a cleared space.
Her wrists and ankles had been tied to the chair, and she closed her eyes at the sudden brightness. All around her, crates and boxes of supplies, TVs, books—and most importantly, piles of nonperishable food—filled the tent. Cami saw a bed in the far back corner, dragged there at some considerable effort, if the marks on the ground were any indication.
Cami shuddered in revulsion. She’d found Cisco's tent. Even the air felt vile and repulsive, as if his very presence had tainted the space inside the tent.
Amber turned, her sweat-bedraggled hair plastered to her face. She had a swollen lip and the beginnings of a real shiner, but otherwise appeared unhurt. "Mom?" she whispered. "Mom!"
Cami sprinted forward, crying as she slid to a stop and hugged her daughter. Her hands flew over Amber's face, checking for other injuries, down her neck and her shoulders. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah—mom, we gotta get out of here!"
The radio in John's backpack went off. "Whatever you’re doing, you better hurry up—they’re starting to retreat. I think they know something's up..."
Cami turned to John. “Tell Rufus to get ready to retreat. And let Flynt know we’re almost done!"
John nodded and stepped out of the tent with the radio at his mouth. He shrugged out of his pack as he went. Outside, gunfire continued, but it was more sporadic than it had been before.
Cami knelt next to her daughter and put her pistol on the ground. “Amber, are you hurt? Can you walk?"
Between sobs, Amber tried to answer. "I...yeah...not bad..."
Cami took a moment and rested her forehead against Amber's arm, closed her eyes and offered a prayer of thanks. "Okay, honey,” she said as she looked up and smiled through unshed tears, “I’m going to get you out of this...just hang on a second."
"Hurry mom!" Amber pleaded. "The leader...he said he was going to..."
"Sssh," Cami said as she soothed her daughter's frayed nerves. Her hands trembled with rage and fear. "Nobody's gonna hurt you," Cami said as she pulled a pocket knife from her pants, snapped the blade open and carefully trimmed the duct tape from Amber's right wrist. She pulled her hand free of the sticky material and wrapped it around Cami’s shoulder.
As Amber continued to cry, Cami picked up her pistol and put it into Amber's hand. "Aim at the flap—shoot anyone that walks through. I've got to get this duct tape off your other hand...”
Amber took the gun and held it in an unsteady grip. She still cried, but she struggled mightily to stop. "Mom...these guys..."
"It's okay, honey," Cami said, her own voice high and tight with fear. She sliced the duct tape holding Amber's left arm down and gently peeled the tape back. Amber quickly grasped the gun with both hands.
"That's a lot of shooting out there," Amber said, her voice wavering as if she were on the edge of breaking into another round of tears.
"Darien Flynt and a handful of his people—along with some volunteers from the neighborhood—came with me,” she said as Cami worked on the ankle restraints. “They’re out there fighting the raiders to keep them occupied while me, John Douglass, and Rufus rescue you.”
"Rufus?" asked Amber, as Cami cut through the first of the leg restraints.
John rushed back into the tent, his weapon up. "I just spotted somebody coming out of the woods on the far side of the parking lot. Whatever you’re doing, get it done, we‘re out of time!" A bullet ricocheted off the truck parked next to the tent to add emphasis to his words
"I know, I know," Cami said testily. "They wrapped this tape around her leg like four times...I’m trying not to cut her..."
"Just do it mom, I don't care—we have to get out of here!" The tape finally separated, and Cami pulled the knife away before Amber jumped up, almost impaling herself on the little blade.
"Let's go!" John yelled.
; Rufus appeared at the tent entrance, out of breath but smiling. "Hey, they're coming back!"
Cami led Amber out around the front of the tent. "To the right—here, let's cut between the two tents—everybody run straight for the woods! We’ll circle around the south side of the camp and head home."
The four of them sprinted as shouts of alarm on the other side of the parking lot drowned out the few sporadic gunshots in the distance. They'd almost made it to the woods, when Amber tripped and fell, crying out painfully. Her pistol went flying across the gravel toward the tree line.
"Go!" Cami yelled. Rufus and John sprinted the last ten yards to the tree line, then spun and aimed back to cover Cami and Amber. Cami dropped and helped Amber get to her feet.
They ran crouched over as the first bullet chipped a rock a few feet away from Cami. As they came upon the pistol, Amber reached down and grabbed it on the run, before they plunged into the tree line. Behind them, John and Rufus fired a few shots to slow their pursuers, then followed Cami and Amber into the brush.
Cami led them approximately 20 yards into the forest, then made a hard turn to the south at a large oak tree. "Follow me, let's go," she urged. The four of them raced around the oak tree and headed south. They reached the edge of the forest where the access road cut across their path and paused. The sounds of pursuit behind them had faded.
More and more shouts and cries of alarm and anger rose from the encampment as the raiders returned to find most of their vehicles inoperable. Cami looked at Rufus, who grinned back at her with a wide smile. "Nice work," she muttered.
"It was fun," the dreadlocked troublemaker replied. He ejected the magazine on his AR and checked it. "I only got a couple more shots left though," he said.
"Hope we won't need any more," Cami whispered. "I don't see anybody looking this way. This might be a good chance for us to run across the road. Everybody ready?"
Broken Tide | Book 4 | Backflow Page 18
