The New Madrid Run

by Michael Reisig

  For a moment, the preacher’s eyes focused as he looked up at Travis. “Travis, son! We made it out?”

  “We made it. Everybody’s fine. Thanks to you.”

  “Yeah, me and Moses,” mumbled the preacher with a weary smile.

  “Hell, more like you and Rambo,” Travis said. “Now you get some rest and heal, my friend. We may need you again. The woods are still full of Philistines.”

  “Yeah, tired,” muttered the preacher wearily as his eyes closed again. “Real tired . . .”

  Travis turned to Christina. “You’ve been here all night, haven’t you?”

  She stood up, stifling a yawn. “Yes, I couldn’t leave him. I was afraid—”

  “Yeah,” Travis said. “You and Todd go get some sleep. We’ll watch over him and keep things on course.”

  She nodded, gratefully.

  “And how are you, amigo?” Travis asked Carlos.

  The Cuban offered a tired smile. “I be okay, Jefe. I hurt, but I be okay.”

  “Good man, Carlos. Fuiste un hombre bueno anoche. I was proud of you.”

  Carlos perked up noticeably at the compliment from Travis in his own language. “Gracias, Jefe,” he replied, head up, proud.

  The sensei and Carlos went topside to assess damages, and Todd slipped away to his bunk after a quick hug from Travis.

  Christina turned to do the same, but Travis reached out for her and turned her towards him. “Christina, you are the most remarkable woman I have ever known.”

  “And you,” she said, “look like a cross between a chimney sweep and an out-patient at a five-alarm fire, but I think I might be falling for you anyway.”

  Travis smiled warmly and pulled her close, and they kissed with the passion of a first-love romance. Todd, who had peeked around the bulkhead of his bunk, grinned, very satisfied, then pulled the covers up around him and went to sleep.

  After a few hours of motoring, they anchored in a small cove about fifty yards from shore, somewhere near the Louisiana– Arkansas border. There they made breakfast, then cleaned and patched the bullet-ridden hull and sails as best they could.

  Travis continually monitored the preacher, wiping his forehead and face with a cool cloth and checking his bandages. There was no change in the man’s condition—he still held on.

  If the coastline continued its northward recession, the sailing part of their journey would end in a few days. They had ample food and water, so they decided to hole up and rest for a while—hopefully, to give the preacher a chance to recover.

  They spent the next three days in the cove. By the second day the preacher’s fever had subsided and, though in considerable pain, he was beginning to sleep normally. He was going to make it.

  That afternoon, Travis and Christina took Todd and Ra ashore in the Amazing Avon, which once again, had miraculously survived. There they spread a blanket and picnicked in the woods. Ra chased squirrels and frolicked with Todd like a puppy.

  Gazing across the blanket at Christina, Travis suddenly realized that although he’d just been through one of the most traumatic periods of his life, he couldn’t remember being happier. He felt as if every inch of his being was alive, and Christina brought out feelings in him that he thought had died and been buried forever.

  The afternoon wore on and Todd, displaying more intuition than was common for a twelve-year-old, took Ra back to the boat, promising to return for them later. Christina smiled at Travis as Todd paddled away. “I feel like we’re being ‘handled’ a little bit by him, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I think he likes this situation between you and me, but then, that’s okay, because so do I.”

  Christina chuckled and caressed him with her eyes. “Me, too.” For a moment they both watched Todd paddling in the distance, then, almost as one, they turned and their eyes locked again. Without a word, Christina moved across the blanket and into his arms.

  Slowly their lips touched, caressing with promise then melding into full passion. Hands charted new courses of pleasure across unfamiliar but intoxicating seas as the tempo of their breathing rose in unison. Yet the heat of their desire was tempered by a new, pure, depth of emotion that demanded the moment be savored, not rushed. They languished in the pleasure of passion, and like the slowly rising torrent of a rain-swollen river, it cascaded down around them, lifting them up, and sweeping them away. When clothes were finally torn away with trembling hands and their bodies touched, white-hot emotions drowned their senses in a wave of uncontrollable passion, and in the final moment of union, so intense that its pleasure bordered on pain, their cries startled the creatures of the cove.

  By the fourth day, the preacher was able to sit up and was sounding like his old self. He leaned back in his bunk and took a glass of water from Christina. “Got so many gal-derned holes in me you could stick a hose in my ass, set me on the lawn, and use me for a sprinkler.”

  Travis descended the cabin steps and looked over at the two of them smiling. “Amazing what a pretty nurse will do for a man.” He walked over, put his arm around Christina’s waist and looked down at the preacher. “Well, buddy, looks to me like hell got all panicky for nothing. The nurse here tells me you’re going to live.”

  “And it’s a damned good thing, son, ’cause somebody’s got to keep you out of trouble.” The preacher paused for a moment. He looked up at Travis, his face becoming serious. “Son, I want to thank you for what you did back there—comin’ after me like that.”

  “Forget it, you’d have done the same for me.”

  “Maybe I would’ve—maybe I wouldn’t. You never know for sure ’til the chips are down, and there ain’t no more cards to turn. All I know for certain is that I’m here now because of you. When it comes to things like this, thanks ain’t much of a word, but you got my thanks and my friendship for as long as you want it.”

  Travis reached out and touched the older man’s good shoulder. “That’s good enough for me, Preacher. Now I’m going topside and get this ol’ girl moving, so we can get to Arkansas and I can start my vegetable garden.” He winked at Christina as he turned to leave.

  The winds had calmed, so they motored along the new coast of Arkansas for the next three days. The evening of the third day found them in a little bay about fifty miles southeast of Little Rock. By GPS reading and the new coastline, that seemed the best place to strike out across land for the Ouachita Mountains and their new home, so there they anchored The Odyssey for the last time. The matter of new transportation became an issue.

  They would no longer need the sailboat, so the plan was to find someone with a land vehicle who would perhaps trade with them. The following morning, Travis and the sensei decided they would hike into the nearest town and find someone who would like to make a deal. The rest of the group stayed in the boat.

  After going ashore in the Avon, Travis and the sensei took a road that virtually ran into the water near the sailboat, and headed inland. They had been walking for almost two hours when they saw several spirals of chimney smoke curling up in the distance. Fifteen minutes later they found themselves on the outskirts of Humnoke; population 385, read the sign, but there appeared to be considerably fewer occupants. Like most of the towns near the New Madrid fault, it had sustained significant damage. Those who had stayed were in the midst of reorganization and reconstruction and, just like a hundred and fifty years ago, they carried guns and were wary.

  The two men had barely made their way to the edge of town when a group of armed citizens in two pickup trucks appeared. A small, wiry man, carrying a shotgun, got out of one of the cabs and approached them. He wasn’t smiling but he didn’t appear ready to shoot, either. “What can we do for you, gentlemen?” he asked, shifting his weapon toward them to make the underlying point. Travis looked at the men in the trucks, then back to the fellow in front of him. “We’re just passing through—don’t want any trouble. We need some transportation. An SUV, or a van—something like that.”

  “And what exactly do you plan on paying for
it with, mister?” the man asked skeptically.

  “Well, strange as it may sound, we just sailed up from Florida in a dandy little forty-six-foot sailboat. It’s anchored about ten miles east of here, and we’d like to trade it for something with wheels.”

  One of the men in the other truck had been listening intently to the conversation. He got out and walked over, a look of interest blending with disbelief on his face. “You sailed up here all the way from Florida, huh? That musta’ been quite an adventure.”

  “You have no idea,” replied Travis.

  “What kind of sailboat?” the man asked.

  “An Irwin forty-six.”

  “Whew. That’s a nice boat, man! I used to be a pretty fair sailor when I was younger. I wouldn’t mind sailing again—just never figured I’d get the chance here. You’re tellin’ me you want to trade that boat for a vehicle?”

  “Well, yeah,” Travis said, “a nice SUV, or a van would be even better.”

  “Listen, mister,” the man continued, “I just happen to own what’s left of a used car lot here. If what you’re telling me is the truth, I’ll make you a deal on a real nice ‘ninety-eight Ford van that made it through the quakes without much damage.”

  Travis looked at the sensei, who nodded. He turned back to the man. “Why don’t we have a look at your van. If it’s what we’re after, we can drive it down to the sailboat and close the deal there. If it’ll make you feel more comfortable, bring a few of your friends.”

  “Oh, I will,” the fellow said with a wary smile, “I will. Now let’s go get my van. I want to see this boat of yours.”

  Eric Dever, the sailing enthusiast, got into the cab of his pickup with Travis and the sensei; three of his buddies jumped in the back. They drove to his house on the outskirts of town, a rambling, ranch-style home, part of which had rambled down the hillside during the recent earthquakes. Off to the side of the house was a row of vehicles —the salvaged remains of Eric’s used car business.

  The van was roomy and clean. It had a heavy-duty transmission, four-wheeldrive, and two gas tanks. Travis thought it was perfect for their purpose. They all piled in—Travis and the sensei up front, Eric and two of his armed buddies in the back, while the other one followed in the pickup. The drive back was quiet and quick. In no time at all, the bay and the sailboat came into sight. Living in a time when no one took any unnecessary risks, Eric and Travis rode the Avon out to the boat while the sensei remained on shore in the company of Eric’s friends.

  As they pulled up in the dinghy, Eric took a look at the missing mast and the bullet holes. “She’s a bit rough. Looks like you did have some exciting times getting here.”

  “Let me put it this way: You aren’t the first person to want this sailboat; you’re just the first person willing to pay us for it.”

  Eric laughed. “It’s like living in the wild, wild West.”

  Travis looked over and smiled. “Yeah, I’ve made that comparison more than once myself.”

  They were helped aboard by Christina, and Eric spent the next hour trading stories and looking over the craft. When the hour was done, so was the deal. Eric knew he was getting a bargain, even with the bullet holes. The agreement was that Travis and his crew would get the van plus two extra five-gallon containers of gas. Eric would have himself a slightly used, but serviceable sailboat—one of the very few on Arkansas’ new inland sea.

  For the next two hours, Travis and the gang unloaded their gear from The Odyssey and packed it into the van. More than a few eyebrows were raised when the National Guard guns and ammo were brought out.

  “How’d you come by that, if you don’t mind me askin’?” queried Eric.

  “Parting gifts from some of those people who wanted our sailboat.

  “I see.”

  When everything was loaded, and most everyone was onshore,

  Travis and the sensei went back for the preacher, helped him into the Avon, and paddled it back to the bank. The three men stood for a moment at the edge of the water, one on either side of the old shrimper, supporting him as they looked back at The Odyssey.

  “Sorta reminds me of my first car,” Travis remarked wistfully. “She was a beater, but I had some incredible times in that car and hated to let her go—even though I was trading it for a newer model.”

  “Yeah, I sure understand that,” the preacher said. “Felt the same way about the Jesus’ Love.”

  The sensei looked at both of them. “Come, my friends. Save your regrets. I have a feeling that all the incredible times are not yet over.”

  They said their goodbyes to Eric and his friends, piled into the van, and headed west, toward the setting sun.

  PART III

  EDEN

  “Welcome traveler, to the new Eden.

  “Look around you; tribulation borne of woeful judgments in the past.

  “The land has changed. Have you?

  “Draw wisdom from these old hills, and seek your new destiny carefully.

  “For there are still as many snakes out there as apples.”—The Preacher

  CHAPTER 17

  Travis drove, equipped with his memory of the area and a road map of Arkansas. The sensei rode shotgun. The preacher was made comfortable in a makeshift bed in the back, and the others sat in the middle seat. Ra wedged himself in at Todd’s feet.

  Two hours later, when night began to fall, they pulled off onto a side road by a small stream and set up camp. Carlos built a fire and warmed a meal while the others laid out the sleeping gear taken from the boat. After supper, they sat around the campfire and talked of the future, and what they hoped it would hold. The sensei, as always, cleaned his swords.

  When the flames had burned to embers and the excitement of the day caught up with them, everyone retired to their individual bedrolls. Travis, whose blankets were next to Christina’s, leaned over and kissed her goodnight, whispering, “If all goes well, another day and we’re going to have a room to ourselves.”

  “Mmmmm,” she murmured sensually as she kissed him once more.

  The misty morning air chilled them as they awoke to a cool, gray dawn. Carlos and Christina built a breakfast fire while Travis and the sensei packed the sleeping gear. The preacher was doing remarkably well; his wounds were healing and he was able to stand for small periods of time, but he tired quickly. After breakfast, everyone gathered around the road map and Travis showed them where they were headed. From what they had seen, the roads in Central Arkansas had suffered a fair amount of damage due to the quakes and tremors, but with a little luck and the van’s four-wheel-drive, they’d make it.

  Shortly after sunrise the group was once again packed into the huge van and underway. Even with the bad roads and delays, Travis figured it was no more than a day and a half to his mountain homestead. He was trying to keep himself in check, but he was becoming excited. They had survived the worst. One more day they would reach the safety of home.

  The travelers avoided the larger cities and kept to secondary roads as much as possible. They encountered a number of people in the small towns they passed through that morning. Not many waved like the Arkansans Travis remembered. Most just seemed intent on whatever they were doing.

  They passed through places where it was evident that the citizens had banded together and struggled for the return of harmony—not just in the physical sense, but in a spiritual sense as well, discovering the pleasures of giving and helping. But, there were other areas where it was obvious that the contest of good against evil had been lost, and the baser side of man’s nature prevailed; hollow-eyed, frightened people moved quickly and silently into the shadows of broken, deserted buildings, appearing to have abandoned hope. The Apocalypse had come, and it had stolen their faith, leaving suspicion, deception, and envy as its legacy. Catastrophe brings out the best and the worst in people, thought Travis.

  The countryside itself had changed as well, nearly as much as the people who populated it. There were great fissures, gaping wounds in the flesh of the
earth that ran for hundreds of yards. Landslides still buried portions of the roads and forced four-wheel detours. Here and there a stream or a river had been re-directed. The weather was noticeably warmer, too; daytime temperatures were reaching the mid-eighties, and for early spring in Arkansas, that was unusual.

  The day wore on and they stopped for lunch by a broad, tranquil river, finishing off some of the last canned goods. Ra splashed in the icy water, chasing fish, while he and Todd explored up and down the bank.

  Sitting there on the grass by the water, Travis watched the boy and the dog playing, then turned to his friends. “Man, I can’t wait to drive that van through the gates of the old homestead. I’m just praying it’s still there.”

  The preacher was lying on his back, a blade of grass in his mouth. “It’s gonna be there, son. It’s gonna be there, and you and I are gonna get to do some turkey huntin’ and maybe a little bass fishin’.”

  “And I get my vegetable garden,” Christina chimed in.

  Travis smiled over at her. “You bet, you do.” Then he looked over at the sensei. “And what can we do for you, my friend, to make you more comfortable in our little mountain home?”

  The older man looked at Travis with his familiar smile. “In an attempt to resist the process of Americanization,” he said, “I would like a cherry tree, so that this time of year, its fragrance and its blossoms will remind me of who I am and where I come from. That token of my heritage may help quell the desire to scratch my genitals in public while addressing my peers as ‘Yo, buddy!’—and perhaps suppress my urge to consume greasy hamburgers and guzzle beverages of fermented wheat while watching giant men in helmets knock each other senseless in their pursuit of an oblong pigskin.”

  The preacher laughed so hard he swallowed the blade of grass he was chewing and nearly choked. Travis, still chuckling, said, “Sensei, I will personally find you a cherry tree, if I have to rummage every remaining nursery in Arkansas.” Then, more seriously, “By this time next year, my friend, you will have your cherry blossoms and their fragrance.” And once again, as their eyes met, he bowed slightly to the Japanese, who returned the bow, never breaking eye contact.