After nearly a half hour of picking his way through the woods within earshot of the surf on the beach, Nick at last got a view of the anchored boats in Smuggler’s Cove. One was a big catamaran, it’s hulls shaped a lot like an overgrown Hobie, but finished in Battleship gray primer. It wasn’t pretty, but Nick could see from the lines that it was a fast sailing vessel. The other boat was a classic sailing yacht—at least 35 to 40 feet long. It looked to him like it was in immaculate condition and Nick figured it was probably better equipped and stocked than the cat, thanks to rich owners prior to the pulse, no doubt. Deciding which one to take would be tough, but looking at how the late afternoon wind was dying down, he thought maybe he wouldn’t have to. If the classic yacht had a running diesel, he could tow the catamaran behind it. It was going to be a good haul today after all, and with three fewer people to divide the spoils among. Nick could barely suppress his anticipation as he began his stalk to get closer.
* * *
Larry Drager kept his finger resting on the trigger guard of the Saiga AK as he struggled to match Grant’s relentless pace from some forty yards back. Even if he could have kept up, he didn’t want to be right behind him in case the man they were chasing realized they were back there and stopped to take a shot. It was a dangerous game, following an armed man like that in this kind of terrain where setting up an ambush would be easy, but the way Larry saw it, they had no choice. If this guy got to where the two boats were anchored before they caught him, Artie and the rest would have no warning. With no way of knowing what happened on this side of the island, they would likely be wrapped in conversation with Tara, since she and her daughter were the first people outside of their little group they’d had friendly contact with in a long time. Artie might glance at the nearby island occasionally while sitting there in the cockpit of the Casey Nicole, but he would have no reason to expect danger from that quarter in the broad daylight. They were simply too far away to have heard all the shooting on the north side of the island, especially with the 10-15 knot breeze out of the southeast that would have carried the sounds the other way.
Seeing how easily Grant picked out the tracks and pieced together the trail in places where there were no footprints, Larry was glad to have him along. Casey had told him what a woodsman and endurance athlete the young man was, and after hearing about his time spent doing assistant research work among a remote tribe of South American Indians, Larry knew he would be a valuable addition to the crew. Scully was a first-rate bushman too, but Larry preferred open water to land. He could deal with camping and stuff like that, but it had never been something he went out of his way to do. For him, sleeping on a boat, even if it was a dinghy, was preferable to any shoreside accommodations—much less a tent.
The barrier islands here were much like the uninhabited cays he was familiar with in the Caribbean. Away from the beaches, they were choked with thick brush, cacti and briars, and alive with biting insects of both the flying and crawling variety. The route the fleeing man had taken was not an easy one, but Larry knew he was trying to stay out of sight by sticking to the woods. And just as he suspected, the trail he left behind was leading straight in the direction of Smuggler’s Cove.
Grant picked up the pace even more as they got closer and before he knew it, Larry was losing sight of him as he pushed ahead among the trees. When he finally came to a more open area and saw him again, Grant had stopped behind a large pine tree, and was motioning for Larry to wait where he was. It was obvious that he had seen something. Larry crouched and twisted and tried to see whatever he was looking at much farther ahead, but he couldn’t. It was hard to restrain himself from following, but held his position, the AK at ready as he watched Grant slip from the first pine tree to the concealment of a clump of bushes and stop. The next time he moved forward, Larry lost sight of him completely.
He waited and waited, the minutes passing like hours as he wondered how far ahead Grant had gotten. He knew they couldn’t be too far from the south side of the island, because Cat Island was not all that big to begin with. Could Grant see the boats from where he was? Had he caught a glimpse of the man they were pursuing? Larry figured he must have and decided to trust Grant’s ability in the woods. With the skills he obviously had, he could probably do a better job of sneaking up on this guy alone than the two of them could. The last thing Larry wanted to do was mess it up and give the guy a warning that he was being followed and get them into another shootout. He would wait until Grant called him or he heard something else, then he would be there to back him up with the AK.
Larry didn’t have to wait long. The quiet of the island was shattered by the report of a single rifle shot at close range, fired from the direction where he’d seen Grant disappear. The crack of the rifle was followed by a more distant shotgun blast, and then Larry heard two more rifle shots. He was already on his way in the direction of the shooting by then, but as he slipped closer, all was quiet, until he heard his name called out in an excited tone:
“LARRY! I GOT HIM! COME ON!”
Larry ran as fast as he could until he found Grant pointing excitedly in the direction of open water to the south of the island. The Casey Nicole and the Sarah J. were still lying peacefully to their anchors in the distance. When Larry reached Grant’s side and could see exactly where he was pointing, he saw the body of a shirtless man twisted on its side behind a grassy dune. From where the fallen man was lying, the beach was only another hundred yards distant. Grant had taken him down just in time. He was still shaking with adrenaline when Larry gave him a light slap on the back.
“Nice shooting, Grant!”
“My first shot was way low; hit him in the leg. That’s why he managed to get off a round, but he had no idea where I was. I didn’t realize how much the trajectory would drop on a pistol-caliber carbine. I’m pretty sure I hit him in the head with one of the second two though.”
“Let’s go find out! Artie and the others are going to be wondering what the hell is going on too. They had to have heard those shots.”
TEN
TARA’S REPLY WAS CUT off mid-sentence by the sharp crack of a gunshot. She had been telling Artie and Casey more details of those first days in Gulfport after the blackout when the unexpected sound caused all three of them to jump up from where they were seated in the cockpit. A second, deeper blast that seemed even closer followed the first; then more two sharper reports like the first. By this time, Artie was scrambling for one of the rifles down below just as Jessica rushed back up on deck to see what was going on. Before the gunfire, Rebecca was keeping to herself, sitting with her feet hanging off the edge of the forward trampoline as she stared into the water, disinterested in conversation. Tara ran forward to grab her; unsure if the firing was directed at them but not waiting to find out.
“Come on, Rebecca! We’ve got to get down in one of the cabins!”
As the two of them made their way back into the cockpit, she saw that Artie had a rifle and was crouched behind one of the cabin sides, studying the beach as he pointed it that way.
“Who is it? Can you see anybody?”
“No, but whoever it is can’t be far away. I don’t think they were shooting at us though. I didn’t hear any bullet impacts.”
“I didn’t either,” Casey said.
Tara noticed that Casey had a rifle as well as she knelt down beside her dad, preparing to help him defend the boat.
“Get down below with your daughter, Tara. Jessica’s bringing us more ammo if we need it. There’s nothing you can do up here and it’s dangerous to be out in the open.”
Tara made sure Rebecca went below, but it was hard for her to go and hide out of sight without knowing what was going on. Besides, she doubted the thin wooden hulls of the catamaran would stop bullets anyway. A gun was the one thing Tara didn’t have, either on the boat or in her home before the event. There had been times she’d thought about it as crime was increasing on the coast, but with Rebecca in the state of mind she’d been in since Brad left, Ta
ra deemed it too risky to keep a gun in the house. Her mom and dad never carried one sailing with them either, because they never ventured farther out than the friendly islands of the Bahamas, and they always said they felt safe there.
She had heard second hand of a lot of incidents on the mainland since the lights went out, but so far, Tara and Rebecca had not been close enough to the violence to hear gunshots themselves. Now, that had changed in an instant, and she was certainly glad her new acquaintances had guns and knew how to use them. Artie had already briefly recounted some of their scary encounters during their conversation since the others left on the fishing boat, and he assured her they would not be there now if they had been unarmed in the previous weeks.
No one in Artie’s group had seen anyone else wandering around ashore on the island, nor had she or the Owens. It was a mystery as to who could have fired the shots and Artie and Casey were discussing the possibilities when they heard shouting from behind the dunes.
“ARTIE! CASEY! DON’T SHOOT! IT’S US!”
“Larry?” Artie turned to Casey in surprise.
Tara watched with them as they lowed their rifles and waited. In a moment, two figures stepped into view on the crest of a low dune, waving their weapons overhead.
“It’s Larry and Grant, Dad!”
How did they get there? Tara wondered. Why weren’t they on the boat? In answer to her question, she heard a cry from Jessica.
“There’s the Miss Lucy, on the way back!”
“That’s odd,” Casey said.
Artie turned to Tara: “They took the double kayak with them. Do you mind if I use your dinghy to go pick them up from the beach?”
“Of course not! Here, I’ll cast you off when you get in it.”
Tara watched as Artie set the oars in the oarlocks and then she untied the bow painter and dropped it in the boat with him. She was as anxious as the rest of them to find out what had happened. Why had Larry and Grant walked here from the north side of the island and what was the shooting about? Casey said that it had to be Scully at the helm of the Miss Lucy, and since Larry and Grant weren’t shouting a warning.
They hadn’t been gone all that long, and she wondered if they had already freed the Owens’ boat from the shoals. She hoped so; because it would be dark soon, but she had also hoped her friends would be following the Miss Lucy back around here to anchor in the nearby deep spot Larry had mentioned. She waited with Casey and Jessica as they watched Artie approach the shore where Larry and Grant stood waiting. They all expected to see the three of them immediately return to the boat, but instead, Artie got out and followed Larry and Grant back over the dunes.
“Something happened back there,” Casey said. “Maybe they shot a deer or some other game animal to take with us…”
“Ugh!” Jessica made a face. “But you’re right. That shooting we heard wasn’t for nothing.”
Tara leaned over the companionway to check on Rebecca, who was sitting at the bench in the nav station, absent-mindedly staring at the now-useless electronic instruments. Nothing seemed to excite or interest her, even the sound of gunfire. Tara could never stop worrying about it, but knew all she could do was give her daughter more time. She turned back to her companions in the cockpit and as they watched expectantly, the three men reappeared and headed for the beached dinghy.
“Larry and Grant have two extra guns,” Casey said. “I wonder what that’s all about?”
They didn’t have to wait long to find out. When Artie brought the dinghy alongside, the two girls were full of questions, first asking Grant and Larry if they were all right. Tara stood there waiting, and when Larry looked up at her the expression on his face told her instantly that something went badly wrong. When he came aboard and told her exactly what it was, Tara let him put his arms around her as her tears for the sweet old couple she’d befriended poured down her cheeks. She’d barely known them, but having associated them so much with her own parents, the loss was almost the same as losing dear family members. And making it so much worse was the pain of wondering why someone would do that to two unarmed people. Tara knew there had always been bad people in the world, but hearing Artie and Casey tell their stories, it began to sound like a hopeless spiral into savagery and violence had taken hold of people everywhere. Where would it end? And how would she and Rebecca survive it?
By this time, Scully had brought the Miss Lucy back into the anchorage and Larry had to go and help him bring her alongside the catamaran. Tara had felt a brief moment of comfort in his arms, and she suddenly realized that other than Rebecca, he was the first person she’d hugged since all this began. As she stood there watching them secure the boats together, Tara wondered what she and Rebecca were going to do now? She certainly wasn’t going to sail back around to the north side of the island where the Owens had been murdered. Larry said they had killed the entire crew of attackers, but how could he be sure? And what if more came from wherever those came from? She felt safe here anchored next to all these armed survivors who’d already been through so much more than she and Rebecca, but would they let the two of them stay? And Artie had said they were planning to set sail to someplace far away. Would they leave sooner now because of what happened and leave her and Rebecca here alone? Tara’s questions were answered when Larry and Scully were finished and the captain came back to the cockpit to discuss the matter with his crew.
“I think we need to step up our plans for leaving and sail first thing in the morning,” Larry said. “Those killers likely came from West Ship Island, based on Tara’s observations when she sailed past there just a few days ago. When they don’t return, more could come looking for them. Tara said there were several boats there.”
“But can we sail before the repairs are finished?” Casey asked.
“The structural work has been done. The epoxy from the last of the glasswork that Scully and I did today will be cured in a few more hours. Like always, the Casey Nicole is a work in progress. We’ll worry about the final sanding and priming at the next harbor.”
“And where will that be, little brother? I didn’t think we’d made a final decision yet.”
“We haven’t, Doc. But all of you have heard my reasoning when it comes to the various options. Nothing is certain, and we don’t know what we’ll find no matter where we go. The important thing is to go though. After what happened today, we know for sure we can’t stay here. It’s just too close to too many desperate people who can get here from the mainland easy enough. And it’s only going to get worse.”
“I agree,” Grant said. “Anywhere is better than here, and we can always keep moving if the first place we stop is unsuitable.”
“Exactly. That’s why we don’t need to waste any more time debating the possibilities. I say we lay a course back across the Gulf to the outer end of the Florida Keys. We can stop at the Dry Tortugas or else the Marquesas Keys and make further plans. Both groups are farther away from the inhabited keys than this place is from the mainland, and are inaccessible except by boat. From there, we’ll be in a good position relative to the wind and current to sail northeast on the south side of the chain and then cross the Gulf Stream again to the Bahamas.”
“But after what happened last time, will we be any better off there?” Artie asked.
“Like I said, I don’t have the answer to that. But there are hundreds of islands in the Bahamas. Some of them are way off the beaten path and a long way from anywhere. Most will be way safer than here, and going that way puts us in a good place if we decide we need to go on across the Atlantic.”
Across the Atlantic? Tara couldn’t imagine such a voyage, although she knew people did it on small sailboats. Her mom and dad had friends who had made the crossing on their Tayana 42 a few years back. So this was it; the first helpful and well-prepared people she’d met since all this happened were about to sail away in the morning. She and Rebecca would be alone on an island where the only other people left were dead. So now what? Larry answered that question befor
e she could ask when he suddenly turned to face her:
“Tara, I really think you and Rebecca should go with us. You can’t stay here. Surely you understand that?”
Tara wasn’t expecting this; an offer to accompany these people she’d just met hours ago. Before she could answer, one of the girls objected. It was Jessica, the friend of Larry’s niece, Casey. Tara had gotten a less than friendly vibe from her since she and her daughter first stepped aboard the catamaran.
“You already said the Casey Nicole was almost overloaded with six of us, Larry. We don’t even have enough bunks for everyone as it is.”
Tara wasn’t surprised that Jessica would say this. The catamaran did seem full even now, with all of them sitting in the cockpit at anchor. Eight people would be a crowd for long-term sailing and living aboard. But that was not even an option Tara was willing to consider, no matter how big a catamaran they had. She was not going to abandon the Sarah J. after all the sacrifices her parents had made to buy and restore her, and she was about to tell Larry this when he cut her off:
“I’m not talking about them joining us on the Casey Nicole, Jessica. If Tara is willing to accompany us, I’ll sail with her aboard the Sarah J.”
ELEVEN
CASEY COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT she’d just heard her Uncle Larry say. He was going leave the Casey Nicole to help these strangers they’d just met sail their boat south? She knew he’d become instantly infatuated with this Tara the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but she didn’t realize he had it that bad. He’d built the Casey Nicole with his own two hands (and help from Scully, of course) and she knew that there was no place on Earth he’d rather be than aboard his creation, wherever it may be at the time. But now he was ready to immediately jump ship to sail on someone else’s monohull! Casey just didn’t understand men, but that didn’t make them any less predictable.
Voyage After the Collapse (The Pulse Series Book 3) Page 6
