“I hope you do. I just wanted to help, that’s all.”
“I figured you might want a break from sailing after being at sea so long. This is a pretty nice cay to hang out on for a while. It’ll be a lot better when I leave with Russell.”
“I don’t know if it will or not,” Jessica looked away. Larry could tell she was upset about something.
“What’s the deal, Jessica? Is this about my niece being back in the picture?”
Jessica wouldn’t say, but Larry already knew. He knew from what Artie told him of the voyage that Jessica had clung to Grant the whole way. It was understandable that she didn’t want to share his attention with Casey when they were all reunited here. Larry had seen this coming for a long time. He didn’t know when, but there was going to be a blow-up between Jessica and his niece over Grant. It was simply inevitable, although he also believed that if Grant were truly more interested in Jessica than Casey, his niece would be far more likely to accept it and let it go than Jessica. Jessica was used to getting her way, and Larry knew why. He would do his best to keep things smooth among his crew, but it would probably have to wait until he returned from his trip to Florida.
Jessica was about to say something else when they both heard Tara scream, followed by shouting from Casey as well. The two of them had put away their tools and gone ashore to gather more wood for the evening fire. Artie and Grant were still in the water, finishing up their work on the other hull.
“MY BOAT! REBECCA!”
Tara’s voice was hysterical. It was just like the night she’d come on deck during the Gulf crossing and discovered Rebecca was missing. Larry bolted to the beach with Jessica right behind him, and saw Artie and Grant doing the same out of the corner of his eye.
“THE SARAH J. IS UNDERWAY!” Casey screamed as they all ran to meet her.
Larry saw that Tara was racing for the dinghy, which was tied up high above the tide line with the oars in their locks. He took in the scene in the anchorage and his first thought was that Rebecca was pulling another stunt like her last, but then almost as fast as he thought it, he dismissed that idea. Her attitude had changed completely since her ordeal in the Gulf and besides, he doubted she could get the anchor up and set the sails by herself anyway. The Sarah J. was already more than a quarter mile south of where she’d been anchored, the mainsail full and drawing and the jib flogging as a figure in the cockpit worked to wrestle the sheets under control. He could now see that it wasn’t Rebecca and he knew immediately what was going on; it had to be Russell! That sneaky bastard! Rebecca was nowhere in sight. Larry scanned the water as he ran to meet Tara but didn’t see anyone swimming or anywhere in sight along the beach. Tara was already dragging the dinghy towards the water as fast as she could.
“WAIT TARA! I’M GOING BACK TO GET A RIFLE!”
“I’ll get it, Larry! I can run faster than you. Go ahead and help her get the dinghy to the water!”
“Ok, thanks!” Larry said, knowing Grant was right. He needed to get that dinghy launched as fast as possible. But with the Sarah J.’s sails filled with a favorable wind that would rapidly carry her away from the island, he wondered how they were going to catch up. Tara’s face was set with grim determination when Larry reached her side and grabbed the gunwale opposite her to help her carry the boat to the water. The finely crafted lightweight dinghy was designed for efficient rowing, and there was a sailing rig for it too, but unfortunately, the mast and the sail was still stowed aboard the Sarah J. where it had been since Tara’s parents last used it. With the rig, they would have a better chance, but what Larry really wished for was a Zodiac with a powerful outboard.
“Rebecca’s still on the boat! She’s got to be!” Tara’s voice was frightened, but she was somehow holding it together.
Larry agreed. There was still no sign of the girl in the water or anywhere else. Russell must have swum out to the boat and boarded it while Rebecca was below in her cabin.
“He must have hit her or threatened to or she would have screamed,” Tara said as they neared the water with the dinghy. Artie and Jessica and Casey had caught up by now too and all were helping. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch when we catch him!”
Larry knew that once again, he’d screwed up. It was obvious from the minute they met him, that Russell was going to be a pain in the ass. But he’d misjudged his capacity to pull a stunt like this. He shared Tara’s sentiment, but wondered how they were going to catch the 37-foot sailboat that was already underway with a fair wind in its sails.
Grant sprinted across the island with two rifles in hand, one of them the lever action carbine he’d used so effectively in his first gunfight on Cat Island. “Let me go with Larry. We’ll catch them.”
“No!” Tara said. “I’m going. That’s my baby out there! You can’t leave me here!”
Larry took the rifles and put them both in the dinghy. It wouldn’t do to argue with Tara now. It was her daughter out there after all, not to mention her dinghy and her sailboat that had been stolen. But there was room for Grant too, and he could row faster than either of them, considering Larry’s injured arm. The only real hope they had was that Russell would screw up and run aground on one of the many shoals Larry knew were scattered to the south of the cay, or that he would give up and stop if they fired a few rifle rounds across his bow. Larry doubted the latter, and shooting directly at him wasn’t an option because Rebecca was on board and there was no way of knowing just where. There was no way Tara would let him risk a shot like that, and Larry wouldn’t take it even if she did.
Grant pulled at the oars for all he was worth and the dinghy was soon up to its maximum cruising speed. The Tartan 37 was slowly gaining distance on them though, and Russell now had the jib trimmed so the gap would widen rapidly. Tara was standing in the bow of the dinghy, screaming at Russell to stop and calling out her daughter’s name. It was heartbreaking to hear the desperation in her voice, and it brought back all his memories of that awful night in the Gulf when Rebecca had gone missing overboard. This time they knew exactly where she was, but she was just out of reach. Russell managed to slip through the shoals, whether by sheer luck or because he could still read the water depths by color in the late afternoon sun, it didn’t matter. He had also found time to look around down below, judging by what happened next. Larry didn’t notice the first small splash next to the dinghy until the sound of a rifle report reached his ears. He grabbed Tara and pulled her to the floorboards just as several more shots followed the first. Grant immediately stopped rowing, letting the dinghy drift.
“Dammit! He found the SKS!” Larry said, looking around to make sure Grant and Tara hadn’t been hit. “We’ve got to fall back. The bastard’s gonna get lucky if he keeps trying long enough!”
“NO!!!!” Tara screamed “We can’t let him just sail away like that with my baby on board! We can’t let him get away!
Tara got back to her feet and refused to get down, striking Larry’s arms away when he tried to grab her again. He gave up and let her stand there, screaming into the wind as they drifted. The shooting had stopped, but the Sarah J. was nearly out of rifle range anyway. They would have never caught up in the dinghy even if Russell hadn’t fired on them and Larry knew it. He felt like a helpless fool; an idiot who had truly screwed up again even worse than he had that night when he’d taken a brief nap while letting Rebecca have the watch. If he’d even guessed for a minute that Russell would pull something like this, he’d have shot him dead when he had the chance. What a fool he’d been to not see this coming. Tara collapsed into a sobbing heap in the floor of the dinghy when Grant started back for the beach and Larry didn’t know what to say or do to comfort her. But he knew what he was going to do about it. And he would do it or die trying.
Thirteen
THOMAS ALLEN FELT A huge sense of relief once Intrepida cleared the bridge span of the Overseas Highway and the Keys were finally astern in the wake. By daybreak they were three miles south of the chain and making a stead
y five and half knots in the morning breeze. Scully felt good about the conditions and said it would be best if they continued on while the wind was good. He said it might strengthen later in the day out in the Atlantic, but he read no sign of a storm in the skies and didn’t think they would have trouble making the passage to the islands.
Thomas hadn’t slept all night, but he was still so wired from his near-death experience that he didn’t have the slightest inclination to try and get some rest. He was always that way when under stress or worry, which had been much of the time since they’d left their apartment and moved aboard Intrepida. Mindy, however, amazed Thomas with her ability to put worry aside—at least her worry about those things that did not require immediate attention or were beyond her control. Because of this, she’d gone below as soon as they were under the bridge and were relatively safe from the threats of land. Now she was sleeping soundly in the V-berth despite the heeling motion of the boat under sail. Thomas wasn’t sure how that was going to work out once they were in the open sea, however. Maybe she could do it, but he didn’t really expect to find out what it was like. The truth was, he usually felt queasy when he went below if there was much motion at all, so he figured he would be spending most of the offshore passage in the cockpit with Scully.
“So, what do you think? Do you still think this boat can handle the crossing, Scully?” he asked nervously as he stared at a chart of the Florida Straits and then out at the open ocean that stretched endlessly before them.
“Not to worry ‘bout de boat, mon. De boat, she’s good. Now we need only workin’ out de navigation. If you pass me dem chart, an’ take de helm, I doin’ dat now, mon.”
“Sure, no problem. I hope you can estimate about how long it will be until we can anchor somewhere again.”
Thomas wanted to be in the Bahamas already. Getting there was the part he was less than enthusiastic about. As he steered the boat while Scully plotted their course, he scanned the horizon for any signs of other boats—especially Navy ships or other gunboats. But they were alone for now. If they could just get out to International Waters and into the Gulf Stream, he hoped they would be home free. When they reached the outer reefs that separated Hawk Channel from the open Atlantic, Thomas steered through a well-marked pass that led to deep water. On a normal day, scores of fishing boats and dive boats would be hanging around the reefs up and down the Keys, but all that had changed now. Gone were the recreational vessels that dotted inshore waters, as well as the freighters and cruise ships that would normally be coming and going out in the Straits.
“I wonder why there are no Navy ships off this part of the coast? Seeing how they had the Dry Tortugas locked down and then what you said about the Everglades. It’s strange.”
“Probably dem not havin’ enough ship. Maybe only put de one dem got in de main place de traffic comin’”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll bet they have their resources in the Miami-Ft. Lauderdale area if they have them anywhere. Those are major ports. Probably several places farther north up the coast too. Any big ships coming in from other countries would go in there or enter the Gulf west of the Dry Tortugas.” It made sense that the blockade was mainly there to intercept bigger ships. Maybe they were concerned about foreign military vessels trying to enter U.S. waters in light of the crippling effect of the solar flare. Kicking recreational boats out of the anchorage at Ft. Jefferson might have simply been a drill or a matter of wanting the area to be exclusive to their operation. He didn’t know what they would have been doing in a remote place like Cape Sable, where Scully said his friends had been driven away with warning shots, but Thomas figured they must have had some need to secure the area. Whatever the blockade was about, it was a tremendous relief to get out of Florida waters unchallenged. Thomas had been worried about that ever since he and Mindy left Fort Jefferson. They weren’t ready for the Bahamas crossing then, but he’d certainly wanted to have the option when they were.
He thought there was a good chance they’d be stopped by Bahamian officials as well, but when he asked Scully about that, the islander said he wasn’t worried. Larry told him the Royal Bahamas Defense Force was spread thin even in normal times, and it was rare to see them in many parts of the islands, especially in the more remote places like their destination. He said that if they were even operating at all, they would likely have their hands full dealing with a huge influx of American boats seeking refuge in the more popular parts of the archipelago—like the Abacos, the Berry Islands and the Exumas.
“Not passin’ dem places where we goin’,” Scully said. He held the chart so Thomas could see while he steered. “I t’ink we cross to de closest point of de big island, dis Andros here,” he pointed. “Larry said not many boat going to Andros. We sailin’ down de west side all de weh to de bottom. Lots of reef but no problem in de small boat. We go in places most boat, dem can’t, an’ den work our way down and den sail southeast to de Raggeds.”
Thomas followed the route Scully’s finger traced and contemplated the voyage ahead. It was a long way to the Ragged Islands. Even after they got to the south end of Andros, they would only be about halfway there. Thomas had never even considered that part of the Bahamas when he’d dreamed of sailing there. The Ragged Islands were closer to eastern Cuba than they were to any of the more popular cruising destinations of the Bahamas. But the fact that they were so far from Florida was reassuring too. Such a remote place had to be safe. He couldn’t imagine that it would be otherwise. The people with bad intentions like those two men Scully had killed were going to be found in places with a good supply of potential victims. They wouldn’t make the effort to go someplace as remote as the Ragged Islands. At least that’s what Thomas told himself.
They were well out of sight of all land by midmorning, and sailing over water that was the prettiest shade of blue Thomas had ever seen. Scully said they were now in the Gulf Stream, and seeing nothing different about it other than the color of the water, Thomas felt silly for fearing the notorious stretch of ocean for so long. There was certainly nothing to fear there now, sailing under sunny skies in steady winds that were between 10 and 12 knots. At last he was able to relax, and when Scully took over the helm again, Thomas napped on the leeward cockpit seat until Mindy woke and came back on deck from below.
Thomas’ smug feeling that they had defeated the odds and were in control of their destiny vanished again that afternoon, though, when heavy clouds began to gather out of the east, the sky darkened by an approaching line of squalls from dead ahead.
“We’ve got to turn, Scully. We can’t sail through that!”
“Where we gonna turn to, mon? Can’t run from every cloud, mon. Thunderstorm comin’ most every day dis time in de year.”
“I thought you said you felt good about the weather,” Mindy said, in a voice only slightly less nervous than Thomas’.
“Not to worry, only little rain, mehbe lightning, an’ de strong wind. Soon pass, mon.”
But what Scully called “a little” was an afternoon of terror for Thomas and Mindy. They sailed directly into what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of dark clouds. The color of the sea changed from the tranquil deep blue of the morning to a cold and opaque, steely gray. Thomas helped Scully reef the main to the deepest row of reef points after they dropped the jib completely and stuffed it in its bag to put below. Scully assured him they could ride out what was coming, as long as they didn’t have too much sail up, but that didn’t relieve the twisting knots of anxiety Thomas felt in his stomach. Were his worst fears about the Gulf Stream about to come true? What if the wind turned against the current? How would their little 17-foot boat possibly stay upright in the mountainous seas he heard so many sailors report in those conditions?
Thomas heard the fast-approaching rain pelting the water in sheets just before the first band of the storm swept across. When it reached them, the big drops stung as they hit from a near horizontal angle. Scully steered so that the boat fell off the wind, running befor
e gusts that at times heeled it to the rails even with both reefs in the main. They were all drenched in a matter of seconds. Thomas had given Scully one of his extra T-shirts, since he had no shirt at all when they met him, but there were only two cheap plastic rain jackets on board before the blackout and they were already torn and leaking from before, making them practically useless.
“We’re going to die!” Thomas muttered, after Intrepida was pushed so far over in one gust that he was sure just another few degrees would capsize her. Mindy squeezed his hand as they huddled together, but Scully was still grinning wildly through it all, apparently having fun.
“She’s a good boat, mon! I told you she a good boat. Not to worry ‘bout de wind mon. Storm soon pass!”
And pass it did, first the strong wind, then the rain, and finally even the clouds in time for them to witness the sunset. Scully estimated their approximate position and said that they might have gone a bit farther north in the current than he would have liked, but that Andros was such a big target, it would be hard to miss. The problem was that they would reach the banks sometime during the night, rather than in daylight hours. They would have to stay alert and watch and listen for any signs of shoals or reefs when they did, so it was going to be another long and sleepless night.
Thomas didn’t care. He was just relieved to be out of that storm. It was the same feeling he had when the man pointing the gun at him had suddenly dropped dead—the feeling of knowing he was alive again when he was certain it had all been over. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the fear of being shot or the terror of a storm at sea. But he’d survived both because of a man named Scully. Was it sheer luck he’d come along, or some kind of divine providence? Thomas wasn’t sure, but wasn’t about to question it. Come morning they would be sailing Intrepida through Bahamian waters. He had to squeeze Mindy tight to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
Landfall: Islands in the Aftermath Page 8
