The Forge of Darkness (Darkness After Series Book 3)

by Scott B. Williams

  One had arrived a couple of days before the second one showed up, but it was this second one that gave her some hope of getting the Owens’ yacht afloat again. Though it appeared to be heavily damaged when it chugged past them on the way to the other side, the old wooden shrimp trawler apparently had a reliable engine. Like her parents’ classic Tartan 37, the trawler was clearly old enough and simple enough that its engine’s starting ability was unaffected by the electromagnetic pulse from the solar flare. Tara knew too that the engine in such a vessel would be many times more powerful than a little sailboat pusher. Named after her mother, the Sarah J. was a sailing vessel, after all; not a power boat. The engine was needed to enter and leave marinas and tricky inlets, but otherwise the wind provided the means for really going places.

  “I’ll be careful, I can assure you,” Tara told Mike Owens when he tried to talk her out of her latest idea.

  “You can’t be careful enough these days. You know that by now. You never know about folks like that. They went around to the other side of the island for a reason. It looks to me like they want to be left alone.”

  “Maybe they just anchored in Smuggler’s Cove because they could. I know catamarans don’t draw much water, and most shrimp boats don’t either.” Tara was familiar with Smuggler’s Cove, a shallow anchorage on the south side of Cat Island, because she had sailed there with her parents on the Sarah J. years before. While it was off-limits to many deeper-draft sailboats like the Owens’ Wind Shadow, the Sarah J., with her keel-centerboard configuration, drawing barely over four feet with the board up, could get in there just fine. Tara would have anchored there when she and Rebecca first arrived at Cat Island, but she knew the old paper charts on board were outdated since Hurricane Katrina and she was afraid the storm had altered the depths there. For all she knew at the time, there could be sunken wrecks or other manmade debris from the hurricane, hidden by the murky brown waters of the sound where many such obstructions awaited the unsuspecting mariner. Her parents had been using an electronic chart plotter for all their cruising in recent years, but like all electronic devices, that was useless to her now, so she had erred on the side of caution and anchored in deeper waters off the north side of the island. Maybe the strangers had better charts, or maybe they simply weren’t worried about it because their boats drew even less than hers. Whatever the reason they were there, Tara didn’t think it automatically meant they were up to no good. Maybe they were just as afraid as everyone else.

  “I won’t get too close if they seem threatening in any way,” Tara assured Mike Owens. “I’ll sail in close enough to speak to them and if they are unfriendly, I’ll head back out.”

  “If you don’t run aground first,” Mike said.

  “I’ll be careful, like I said. But I’ve got to try. That shrimp boat can pull you and Lillian off. I know it can, if they are just willing to do it. But if I don’t ask, it’s not going to happen. And who knows, they may leave any time.”

  Tara knew Mike and Lillian Owens were probably going to be in danger eventually anyway, whether the shrimp boat pulled them off the shoal or not. Mike had already said they weren’t leaving the immediate area, but Tara didn’t see how they could stay there. For one thing, there was no all-weather anchorage at any of the barrier islands, and even summer thunderstorms could wreak havoc, as had the one last night that caused them to drag anchor. A tropical storm or hurricane would be disastrous out there. But aside from that, Tara knew others would be making their way out to the islands one way or the other, and that might become a problem, especially if not all of them were simply seeking refuge. Some of them might see a big sailing yacht such as the Owens’ Wind Shadow as easy pickings—a source of food and supplies, shelter and transportation all in one. Looting, robbery and worse was already happening on the mainland they’d left behind. And Tara was certain it would soon be spreading everywhere, even to seemingly safe refuges like this. But she couldn’t tell Mike Owens and his wife what to do. All she could do was make this last attempt to help them get afloat, and if that worked at least they would have the ability to make a choice to stay or leave when the time came. If she could do that much for them, Tara knew she and Rebecca could sail away with a clear conscious.

  What she wanted to do was to go to a real island somewhere—an island surrounded by more ocean miles that would protect her and her daughter from the mobs and gangs that were running wild in the coastal cities. What island that would be and where, she wasn’t quite sure; but she thought maybe somewhere in the Bahamas would work. She knew she and Rebecca could get there, because her parents’ boat was capable of sailing most anywhere and since retirement they had cruised the islands each winter themselves. She just wished they could be here too, aboard the vessel they had worked so hard to refit and equip for those trips. But she tried not to think about it, because it only made her depressed. The truth was, she didn’t know when she’d ever see her mom and dad again, or if they were even still okay. She had escaped with her daughter in the nick of time and it was all because of their dream that she had the means to do so.

  Chapter Two

  Before the world turned upside down, Tara had been working as a teller at a local bank branch in Gulfport. While it wasn’t exactly her dream job, it was steady income that paid the bills after Brad Hancock left her for another woman and simply disappeared, abandoning both his wife and daughter. His selfish actions had devastated 13-year-old Rebecca. The bastard not only left, but he had avoided all contact and communication with his only daughter who had adored him since she was old enough to say ‘Daddy.’ It was as if he was dead to her, except that she knew the truth—that he did it on purpose and had gone away to live with a new woman who already had a daughter that could take her place.

  Tara had to pick up the pieces and take care of the two of them as best she could, and she didn't mind the work, because nothing in the world was more important to her than taking care of her child. The hours were relatively easy, allowing her to take Rebecca to school in the mornings on her way to work and pick her up in the afternoons with only an hour of after-school daycare to pay for. And now that Rebecca was in the eighth grade, there were often extracurricular activities she had to stay late for anyway, so she didn’t mind. Besides, in a couple more years Rebecca would be driving herself to school. Tara was already putting money aside for a down payment on a second car. Other than that, her living expenses were low. Her only indulgence was a membership to a gym within walking distance of their apartment. Tara needed that. Working out and venting her anger on the heavy bag during her kickboxing class was her way of dealing with what Brad had done. And besides, she liked the way it made her look and feel.

  Tara had just dropped Rebecca off in front of the campus a few minutes early on that fateful day when everything in their world suddenly changed again and even more drastically. She had pulled into the street and barely gotten to traffic speed when her Honda Accord suddenly became difficult to steer. It took her a second or two to realize that the engine had died, causing the power steering pump to shut down. She fought the wheel to direct the car to the edge of the road before it rolled to a complete stop. Tara glanced in her mirrors and over in the lanes beside her, thinking other traffic might run her down because of her sudden stop, but to her surprise she saw that many other vehicles were either stopping in the middle of the road or pulling to the side as well.

  That seemed strange, but her immediate concern was her own car as she shifted into park and turned the key again and again to try and restart it. The ignition switch did nothing. There was no click and no sound of the starter spinning; only silence. Tara looked around her and tried the key again. When it once again had no effect, she pulled the hood latch and got out to see if she could figure out what was going on. She knew enough about car engines to check for obvious problems, like steam pouring from a busted radiator or hose, or a broken drive belt and the like, but there was nothing obvious like that in evidence.

  Other people were rais
ing their hoods and getting out of their vehicles as well, and it struck Tara as really odd that so many of them would have car trouble at the exact same time. Not seeing anything that might indicate the source of the trouble, she stepped back around the car to her door and reached inside to try the key again, but there was still nothing—no click—no sound at all. She fished her cell phone out of her purse so she could call for assistance, but when she tried to activate the screen to open a web browser and look up a towing service, she saw that the phone was completely dead. Pushing buttons and trying to power it back on did nothing.

  Looking around her, she saw that some of the other stranded drivers were apparently having issues with their phones too. She saw that the traffic signal at the next intersection ahead was out, and then realized the power was out in the stores along both sides of the street. Business owners and customers alike were pouring out of nearby doors to see what happened. It was that moment that Tara Hancock first suspected her problems might be much more than car trouble. A few quick exchanges with some of the other drivers closest to her confirmed that none of them had a working phone.

  Tara didn’t waste time speculating about it or trying to figure out what the problem was though. She instinctively knew that standing around waiting wouldn’t do any good. She locked her car doors by manually pushing the buttons and made her way straight back to the school, walking as fast as she could. She assumed that whatever happened, it was caused by some kind of disturbance in the atmosphere, like when thunderstorms interrupted TV and radio signals. How something like that could have affected cars though, Tara had no clue.

  Whatever it was, with no electricity to run the air-conditioning and lights in the buildings, she was certain all classes would be dismissed, and she didn’t want Rebecca waiting there frightened and wondering what was happening. She might not be able to drive her home, but at least she could be there with her, and that was what she did. And from the moment she got there and found her, she had not let her daughter out of her sight since. They left the school later that afternoon when she realized by then that the power was not likely to come back on before dark, and that her phone was still as useless as a brick. The six-mile walk to their apartment had taken nearly two hours, but they made it well before sunset. Because she had been living on the Gulf Coast for most of her life, Tara kept hurricane supplies on hand, so she and Rebecca had flashlights, candles and battery-powered fans to keep them comfortable in the darkness. And hurricane season or not, Tara always kept a decent supply of groceries in the pantry. They were not going to go hungry; at least not for a few days.

  When they woke the next morning to no change and no new information about what might have happened, Tara began to get seriously worried. People everywhere in the city were out wandering around on foot or by bike, talking to each other, trying to figure out what was going on. The power was still off, no one had a working phone, and the only vehicles running were the older models that some said were unaffected by whatever had happened because they lacked modern electronic engine controls.

  Tara was already hearing rumors of looting before the middle of the second day. Remembering how bad things sometimes got in the wake of major hurricanes, and especially after Katrina, Tara knew it wouldn’t be safe to stay in the apartment if the power stayed off much longer. Not everyone would have extra food, nor would they be willing to patiently handle the inconveniences and disruption of their prior lives of comfort and ease. When nothing had improved by the end of the second night, Tara knew she had to get Rebecca someplace safer.

  With the morning sun streaming in the windows of the apartment the next day, she began sorting through their belongings and picking out the clothes and shoes that would be most useful for walking. She packed them into small bags that they could carry on foot, and added what food there was room for, just in case. She was confident that if they hurried though, there would still be all they needed where they were going.

  The hike to the marina from her apartment was much further than the walk that first day from the school, and took them more than half a day, including several rest stops. Tara had placed all her bets on her parents’ sailboat, the Sarah J, still being tied to the docks there where they’d left it. Her folks would not be aboard, as they had been visiting her mom’s sister in Minnesota and didn’t plan to return until sometime in June. Tara had no way of knowing the true extent of the power failure, and she wondered if her mom and dad were frantic with worry, trying to call to check on her and Rebecca as they did most every day, or if they were somehow in the same situation up north. No one knew the extent of the blackout. At any rate, there was nothing she could do to tell them of her plans. Her dad especially, would agree that it was a smart move though, considering the situation. The boat would provide shelter and mobility, as well as most of the comforts of home, none of it dependent upon being connected to the grid.

  Just as they had done every winter since they retired four years ago, her mom and dad had sailed the Sarah J. south to the Bahamas, spending most of their time there cruising the Exumas. Tara knew the vessel was likely well stocked, as they always over-bought provisions for their four or five month winter excursions. In addition to food, there would be drinking water in the tanks and diesel fuel for the inboard engine. Built in the late 1970’s, the now-classic Tartan 37 had a basic 12-volt electrical system and Tara knew the engine could even be hand-started if necessary because of a dead battery. Like some of the antique cars and pickups they’d seen weaving among all the stalled newer models clogging the roads, the boat would be functional even if some of the newer accessories like the radio, GPS and autopilot her dad added were fried. If she could get the engine started, its simple alternator could keep the batteries charged and they would at least have interior lights and cabin fans whether at the dock or at sea. And even if that failed, there were brass oil lamps that her parents enjoyed reading by in the lovely teak interior on cool evenings at anchor. All-in-all, Tara knew that aboard the Sarah J. they would be better off than almost everyone stuck on land.

  Much to her relief, when they reached the gates of the marina she saw the top of the sloop’s tall mast right where it was supposed to be, towering over her parents’ slip near the end of Pier C. The majority of the vessels usually docked there were still present as well. Most of them, especially the larger sailboats, were owned by out-of-towners who only occasionally came to visit their boats and even more rarely, go sailing. The majority of these vessels were in varying states of neglect, their engines and other mechanicals suffering from disuse; their canvas and brightwork faded from the daily abuse of the Gulf coast sun. Tara new that most of these people would not be returning anytime soon even if they could. If they were in the same situation where they lived as everyone here on the coast, getting back to their neglected boats would be out of the question, even if they realized the advantages of taking to the water.

  Tara and Rebecca moved aboard Sarah J. to wait out the blackout and see what was going to happen. After their first night spent on board at the marina, Tara began taking a careful inventory of the provisions on board and was relieved to discover that she was right about her parents bringing the vessel back to port well supplied. They had no doubt restocked somewhere in Florida on the way back north because when they returned from their trip to Minnesota they were surely planning frequent weekend excursions on the boat whenever the weather permitted. Her dad wanted to live aboard and cruise full-time Tara knew, but her mom wasn’t quite ready to give up their home ashore and commit to the lifestyle. Sailing often and cruising part time in the winters was the compromise they’d agreed on.

  Tara was relieved to find the fuel tank full, just as she’d expected. She remembered her dad saying that it was important not to leave a boat sitting idle with lots of empty air space in the diesel tanks. Condensation would form there, leading to water in the fuel, one of the few things that could give a diesel engine trouble. The 20 gallons in the full tank would run the three-cylinder 27-hp Yanmar a
long time, providing a constant motoring range of around 300 miles at six or seven knots. The engine was seldom used that way on the Sarah J. though. In the kind of cruising her mom and dad did, it was running only when entering or leaving tricky harbors or when they needed it to assist in charging the batteries. That was rare since her dad had installed a pair of large solar panels on the stern rail when they started going to the Bahamas. Tara wasn’t sure if the solar panels were still functioning properly or not though, because the charge controller circuitry that regulated the current they produced was apparently destroyed by the pulse. That was something that could be looked at later, hopefully by someone with a better understanding of marine electrics. For now it was enough simply to have the boat as a safe shelter.

  Chapter Three

  The situation in the city got worse day-by-day as Tara and Rebecca took refuge in the marina. They didn’t venture beyond the marina property because they had everything on board that they needed. But the harbormaster and a few other boat owners who were around passed on bits of news from their own excursions. Looting had become widespread, and armed gangs were taking by force what they could from those who had food or other useful items, especially running vehicles such as motorcycles or older automobiles unaffected by the pulse. There were stories of heated gun battles in the streets, and the police could do little about it because of the lack of communications, central command and organization, not to mention the problems individual officers had taking care of their own families. It was much like the situation in New Orleans in the days after Katrina, but far worse and far more extensive. No one seemed to know just how far reaching the effects of the blackout were, but they began to assume they were well beyond the Gulf coast region. If not, help would have already arrived from the outside, just as it always did after hurricanes. But there were no convoys of National Guard troops and utility company trucks; no helicopters or planes flying overhead; and no influx of volunteers from The Red Cross and various church congregations. Even though not a single roof had been blown away or a single waterfront home flooded by storm surge, the situation on the coast had turned into a disaster beyond the worst hurricane proportions.