Hughes nodded and looked down the deck where the bosun was sitting in the cab of the hose-handling crane, watching Georgia Howell at the ship’s side and waiting for her hand signals to lift a load aboard. On the dock below the dangling crane hook, two sailors were rigging a twenty-foot container for lifting. Other partially filled twenty footers stood open on the dock nearby, across from several open and densely packed forty-foot containers. Chief Cook Jake Kadowski, aka ‘Polak,’ scurried between them all, directing sailors from the deck and steward’s departments in transferring stores from the forty-footers and stuffing the twenty footers with the most useful provisions.
They’d found the empty twenty-foot containers in the terminal, a fortunate find since they could be handled with the limited capacity and reach of the ship’s hose-handling crane. Hughes was hoping to get six or even eight of the smaller containers aboard. Far more food than they could conceivably use, but in the new world in which they found themselves, something told him there was no such thing as too much food.
“That was good thinking on shifting over to this dock, by the way,” Gowan said. “We had the main engine all set to go, but I’m glad we didn’t need it.”
Hughes grinned. “The first law of wing-walking. Never let go of one handhold until you have a firm grasp on another.”
When they’d decided to move upstream the short distance to the container terminal, the Coasties helped them out by running a mooring line over to the container dock with one of their patrol boats, and a long line of National Guardsmen had taken the end and heaved the massive rope up on the dock and put the eye on one of the mooring bits. Hughes had pulled the ship forward by heaving in on the line with the ship’s mooring winch, keeping the bow off the container dock during the approach by using his bow thruster. He’d made the move ‘dead ship’ without using the ship’s main engine.
“And speaking of shifting,” Gowan said, “when do you think we’ll get out of here?”
“Tomorrow maybe, the day after at the outside,” Hughes said. “Later than I wanted, but worth the delay, considering how much better off we’ll be when we leave.”
Hughes looked out over the bustling terminal, the National Guardsmen had moved in camping trailers and RVs parked in neat rows, and elsewhere erected large tents to serve as field kitchens and a mess tent. Several container transporters worked feverishly, rearranging those containers identified as having food to where they were all at ground level and accessible.
“It’s amazing how much has been accomplished in twenty-four hours,” Hughes said.
“Thanks to Tex for a lot of that,” Gowan said, nodding down to the dock where the slender third mate held a clipboard and was now conferring with the chief cook. “Bringing in the terminal guys was frigging brilliant.”
“That it was,” Hughes said, smiling at the memory of Tex speaking up just before yesterday’s meeting broke up, pointing out she’d found the contact list with the names and addresses of terminal personnel when she was searching for the cargo manifests, and that all those terminal employees were likely ‘scared shitless’ just like everyone else. Everyone had shrugged, until she suggested those with homes within easy reach of Major Hunnicutt’s Humvees would likely be amenable to joining the group with their families, trading food and shelter for their knowledge of, you know, how all this stuff actually worked. Everyone jumped at the idea, and she’d further pointed out there was probably a similar list in the offices of the product terminal. A quick search proved her correct.
So Major Hunnicutt had ‘re-tasked some assets,’ and by the following morning the little group of Coasties, National Guardsmen, and assorted civilians was joined by nine container terminal employees and two product terminal employees, with their families, five dogs, three cats, and a goldfish. Major Hunnicutt had a rather loud discussion with Sergeant Wright concerning the arrival of the pets, whereupon Sergeant Wright suggested perhaps the major might like to explain to the various children why their pets were being abandoned. The major dropped the subject. The point soon became moot in any event, as before the day was out, one of the cats ate the goldfish, then ran off along with both the other cats, and everyone liked the dogs.
“How about Levi?” Gowan asked. “You think he’s going to stay with these folks? I’m sure they could use him.”
Hughes looked across the deck where Levi and his father-in-law, Anthony, stood examining their aluminum boat.
He shrugged. “I know Chief Butler and Sergeant Wright are trying to talk him into bringing his family in, though I think Major Hunnicutt’s not a big Levi fan just yet. However, Levi’s gonna do what he thinks is best for him and his family, and you can’t blame him.”
***
“A hundred things can happen,” Anthony McCoy said, “and ninety-nine of them are bad. I’m for keeping our distance.”
Levi nodded. “I feel the same, but what if these folks do make a go of it? We wouldn’t be so isolated and Celia and Jo and the kids would be part of a community. There’s something to be said for that.” He paused. “And besides, we don’t have to worry about being the only black folks in the group. Between the Coasties and the National Guard and their families, it looks like almost a third of the group is black.”
“I’ll grant you it’s tempting,” Anthony said, “and it looks like food won’t be a problem for a while anyway, but they’re not exactly low profile, and guns or not, I reckon someone, or a lot of someones, is gonna take a shot at taking what they have. Our whole idea was to be invisible, and they’re just the opposite.”
“I know, I know,” Levi said, then fell silent.
“All right, boy, what’s eatin’ you? Seems like this is bothering you way more than it should.”
“It’s just there are a lot of things they haven’t considered,” Levi said. “I mean, they just can’t go handing out food without a plan. Yes, they need to help folks because a lot of stuff is likely to go bad before they can eat it anyway, but if they set up a feeding station, it needs to be some distance away or else they’ll have a huge refugee camp right on their doorstep. And all those folks attracted by the food are going to be a sanitation nightmare, completely aside from the fact the folks here in the terminal haven’t even considered the sanitation issue for their OWN group. And what about water? Pecos Trader probably left them enough for three months, but by then, they need to have some sort—”
“And you think you’re gonna solve all the problems for them, huh?” Anthony asked. “All these folks looking up to the great Levi after you been hearing folks giggle up their sleeves about your ‘prepper ways’ all this time. Think maybe there might be a little bit of ego involved here, Levi?”
Levi bristled and started to reply; then he relaxed and nodded. “Yeah, maybe a little.”
“Understandable,” Anthony said, “but you can’t let that get in the way of taking care of the family.”
“I won’t, but I do think I could help these people.”
“I think you could too,” Anthony said, “but how about this. We help them on a ‘commuter’ basis. We can stay in our hidey-hole but keep in touch with them on a regular basis by radio. If we use the Brunswick, we can get here fairly quickly and avoid passing through Wilmington. When we learn all the cutoffs and shortcuts, I think it might be not much more than an hour’s run with the outboard. You come down here and help them out a couple of days a week, and maybe get paid in food. When hunting’s good, we can also bring them in deer and pigs to trade. If everything seems to be safe, we can bring the family in maybe once every couple of weeks, just like farm families went to town in the old days. Difference is, we don’t let NOBODY know where our home place is.
“In time,” Anthony continued, “we may even decide it’s safe enough to move into the group, but we ALWAYS keep our bug-out place stocked and ready, so we can take off if need be. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Levi said.
Chapter Ten
M/V Pecos Trader
St
arboard Bridge Wing
Wilmington Container Terminal
Day 11, 2:00 p.m.
Hughes paced the bridge wing and stared down at the main deck, where his crewmen and their new Coast Guard shipmates swarmed over the containers, securing them for sea under the watchful eye of Georgia Howell. Despite his nervousness, he had to suppress a smile when he saw Polak approaching her, arms waving. The chief cook was known for his excitability, and ‘getting Polak spun up’ was a favorite pastime among the unlicensed crew. Hughes heard a footstep on the deck behind him and turned to find Matt Kinsey standing there, a sympathetic look on his face.
“Nervous, Cap?” he asked.
Hughes sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “As a whore in church,” he admitted. “I’ve practically memorized the damn chart, but I don’t mind telling you I’m terrified. I never thought I’d make my debut as a harbor pilot taking a fully loaded tanker downstream with no tugs and a following current. I’m beginning to wonder if this is such a good idea.”
“Well, at least you’re timing the tide right. Besides,” Kinsey said, “it’s either this or stay here, right?”
Hughes nodded and was about to reply when his radio squawked.
“Mate to bridge. Over,” came Georgia Howell’s voice over the radio.
“Bridge, go ahead, Georgia,” Hughes replied.
“Captain, Polak says one of the twenties he had marked didn’t get loaded aboard—”
“What the hell is he talking about? He supervised the stuffing of those containers himself,” Hughes demanded, and then belatedly added, “Over.”
“This was a twenty he found on the inventory that didn’t need re-stuffing,” Georgia replied, “but I guess the terminal guys got overwhelmed and didn’t bring it to the dock. He wants to hold up until we can get—”
“Absolutely not,” Hughes said. “We have to leave here within the hour to hit the Battery Island turn at full flood tide, and it’s going to be hairy enough at that. Nothing is important enough to delay that, so tell Polak to suck it up and figure something out. He’s got eight containers full of extra food. Over.”
Hughes turned back and looked over the wind dodger as he spoke, gazing down to where Polak was standing in front of Georgia Howell, arms waving. He saw the mate raise the microphone to her mouth again.
“Uh, Captain,” said Howell, “Polak says it’s not food. Over.”
“Okay, what’s so critical we can’t live without it?”
“Uh, toilet paper,” came the reply.
Hughes cursed under his breath. He heard a strangling sound behind him and turned to see Kinsey struggling unsuccessfully to keep from laughing. He snarled into his radio.
“You tell Polak to get his ass ashore and organize getting that container alongside. This vessel is leaving the dock in forty-five minutes and not one minute later, container or no container. Is that clear? Over.”
“Yes sir,” Howell replied, and Hughes saw her speak to Polak, who then raced for the gangway.
“Toilet paper!” Hughes muttered as he resumed pacing the bridge wing.
M/V Pecos Trader
Bridge
Wilmington Container Terminal
Day 11, 2:40 p.m.
“You okay down there, Dan?” Hughes asked into the telephone.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Gowan replied, adding after a short pause, “Don’t worry Jordan, you can do this.”
“Your lips to God’s ear, friend,” Hughes said. “Should be any time now.”
Hughes hung up and turned as Levi Jenkins and the other three departing crewmen came through the stairwell door. He smiled and nodded.
“Looks like this is it, folks,” Hughes said. “I’m sorry to lose you all, but I understand your decisions, and wish you all good luck and Godspeed getting back to your families.”
“Same to you, Captain,” Levi said, extending his hand.
Hughes shook first Levi’s hand, then Bill Wiggins, the departing second engineer’s. He turned to Singletary, but before he extended his hand, the man gave him a curt nod and Hughes didn’t press it. When he turned to Shyla Texiera, she brushed his hand aside and took him off guard by folding him in a fierce hug before stepping back, her eyes glistening.
“Captain, if it wasn’t for my folks—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “We know that, Tex. We’re going to miss you, but no one faults you for leaving.” He included them all with his glance. “Any of you. Family comes first.”
Levi pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Captain, but here are radio frequencies I’ll be monitoring and the days and times I’ll be listening if you ever want to establish contact. I’d like to keep in touch if we can.”
“As would I, Levi,” Hughes said and slipped the paper into his pocket.
The group stood quietly for a few moments until Hughes broke the awkward silence.
He smiled sadly. “Well, folks, all ashore that’s going ashore. Otherwise you’ll be taking a trip downriver.”
With more murmured goodbyes, the group turned for the stairwell door, and when the last one was through it, Hughes took a brief moment to compose himself and then moved forward to gaze out the wide wheelhouse windows as the last container dropped into place on deck under the watchful eye of the mate. He called her on his radio and saw her raise her own mike to her mouth.
“Bridge, this is the mate. Over.”
“Georgia,” Hughes said, “our departing folks are headed ashore. Please take the gangway in as soon as they’re off. Leave the Coasties to secure the last container and gangway, and have our deck gang turn to fore and aft. I want you and Boats on the bow during transit and both anchors backed out ready to drop if necessary. Attend to that first and let me know when you’re done, please. Then stand by to single up lines on my order. Over.”
“Understood, Captain,” she replied, looking back up at the bridge window. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready. Mate out.”
Hughes nodded, and he saw her head bob in an answering nod far below.
“Just a suggestion, but you might want to have her rig the pilot ladder on the offshore side,” said a voice behind him.
He whirled to see Kinsey standing there grinning.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Kinsey’s grin widened and he jerked his head toward the port bridge wing and started that way, a confused Hughes on his heels. When they got to the bridge wing, Kinsey pointed downstream to where one of the smaller Coast Guard patrol boats was approaching at top speed, with three people aboard.
“So? Who are those people?” Hughes asked.
“Well, two of them are Coasties,” Kinsey said, “but the third, well, the third is Captain Randall Ewing, retired Wilmington harbor pilot and fishing buddy of my good friend Chief Butler. Mike convinced him, via some inducement that shall remain confidential, to come out of retirement for one last transit.”
“What? Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Goddamn it!” Hughes demanded. “I’ve been sweating bullets here.”
“Because Mike didn’t even know if Captain Ewing was still at his house on the river, and we couldn’t spare the guys to go look until this morning.” Kinsey paused. “We’ve been sort of busy if you’ll recall?”
Hughes nodded, unable to speak.
“Anyway, we didn’t even want to mention the possibility until we were sure it was going to happen, as we figured you were pretty stressed as it was, and it might really screw with your head if you thought you might get a pilot and then found out it wasn’t happening at the last minute. Mike called me about ten minutes ago and said they were headed upriver.” Kinsey grinned again. “So like I said, we better get the pilot ladder rigged.”
“Kinsey, I could kiss you!” Hughes said.
The Coastie took a step back. “I’d just as soon you didn’t, if it’s all the same to you.”
M/V Pecos Trader
Cape Fear River�
��Southbound
Day 11, 5:00 p.m.
Captain Randall Ewing glanced ahead to starboard, squinting in the bright sunlight at a substantial concrete wharf along the western riverbank.
“That’s the northern wharf of the Military Ocean Terminal,” he said, nodding toward the riverbank, “and this is where things start getting a bit tricky. The channel narrows from six hundred to four hundred feet soon, and the current picks up quite a bit, even on the incoming tide.”
Hughes only nodded, a tight-lipped frown on his face.
Randall Ewing’s eyes never left the river, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You can relax at least a little, Captain Hughes,” Ewing said. “This isn’t my first transit, or even my first transit without tugs. I’ll get you to the sea buoy all right.”
“Sorry. Is it that obvious?”
Ewing chuckled. “You’re as nervous as a nine-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and I suspect your fingerprints are probably permanently pressed into that rail.”
Hughes laughed, the tension easing a bit. “Well, I’d be a hell of a lot more nervous if you hadn’t turned up, I can tell you that. I’ll bet you didn’t figure you’d be coming out of retirement like this.”
Ewing shrugged, eyes still on the river. “Didn’t figure on coming out of retirement at all. I’ve got a nice place along the river and I was happy as a clam—until the power went out, anyway.”
“What are you going to do now?” Hughes asked.
“Survive, I guess,” Ewing responded. “We don’t have it too bad, at least compared to most folks. I’ve got a nice place on the river, up in a little cove, actually, secluded like. Our two kids and grandkids made it there, so at least the immediate family’s okay, and that’s a blessing. We’re on a well and have a septic system, and there’s also an older well on the place with a hand pump. I kept it as a curiosity, really—our kids and then our grandkids liked to pump the handle and watch the water come out. Damn glad I got it now. My wife’s always been into gardening and canning, so we’re pretty well stocked up for a while.” He smiled. “And it looks like we’ll be eating a lot of fish.
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 13
