“I don’t care why you’re here. You’ve violated a Homeland Security restricted zone and we’re under strict orders to intercept any vessels operating in these waters.”
“But we’re American citizens,” Artie said. “We have the right to be here. Who are you guys anyway? Are you Homeland Security? Can you tell us anything about the extent of the EMP damage? We haven’t met anyone from anywhere outside of the impact zone.”
“No! This is a matter of national security and my job is to secure this coastline. My orders are to intercept and detain or remove all vessels operating inside territorial waters. You have two choices, Captain. You can surrender your vessel and and submit to relocation in the South Florida Refugee Encampment, or you can raise your anchor immediately and leave for international waters under our escort. If your choice is the latter you need to get that anchor up and go now, because we have other work to do tonight!”
“We’ll leave then, but I’m not the captain. He’s ashore on the beach. We only stopped here to get some sleep anyway. We have to meet the other boat that was with us in the Dry Tortugas and we were going there tomorrow.”
“The Dry Tortugas are also within the restricted zone, as are all of the Florida Keys. If you choose to leave here rather than go to the refugee facility, you will not be able to enter U.S. waters again anywhere in south Florida. The entire area is under patrol by the U.S. Navy and the fleet working the blockade has clearance to fire upon all unauthorized vessels violating the protected areas.”
“How can they do that?” Grant asked. “They can’t just shoot at an American boat, can they?”
“These guys look serious to me. I don’t think he’s joking,” Artie whispered. He turned back to the man on the other boat who was giving the orders. “We’ll go. We just have to wait on our other guy. He’s over there on the beach somewhere.”
Grant heard the man give an order and the big searchlight came back on and swung in the direction of the beach. The beam swept back and forth, lighting up the white sand and the subtropical vegetation behind it. There was no sign of anyone on the beach or in the woods. The light swept across the waters between the boats and the shore and there was nothing there either. Scully was not in sight ashore, nor was he in the kayak heading back. Where the hell was he? Grant wondered? He had to have heard the motorboat and loudspeaker and could not have missed all the flashing blue lights or the searchlight beam. What was he thinking? Why would he hide from them now?
TWENTY-FOUR
CASEY WAS REALLY DOWN in the dumps as she steered the Sarah J. due west after so many days of looking forward to the end of the voyage. It was especially disheartening heading into the setting sun after all the anticipation of an imminent landfall and a peaceful night at anchor in a sheltered harbor. Now they were facing at least two or three more days and nights at sea to detour around the entire chain of the Florida Keys and cross to the Bahamas before any hope of rest. The passage across the Gulf had been enough sea time for everyone on board, even if not for the added stress when Rebecca went missing and the subsequent loss of contact with the Casey Nicole.
Casey had expected to see her dad and the others waiting for them in the harbor at the Dry Tortugas, and now her hopes were dashed by this unexpected appearance of the military. They were being treated as an enemy; forbidden to land off the coast of their own country simply because they were approaching from the high seas. There was no military or law enforcement to be found on the dangerous coast they had left behind, and it angered Casey that innocent people like the Owens had died because of that, yet now the Florida coast was sealed off. She knew rationally that the Navy crew meant them no ill will and were simply following orders, but their timing sucked. Their presence here was undoubtedly a good sign that law and order might be restored, but it was too late to do her and her family and friends any good. It didn’t seem fair that they should be banned from Florida just because of their mode of travel, but Larry told her that handling each potential intruder on a case-by-case basis would be too much for the military’s already overextended resources.
“Besides that, if the survivors of some of these port cities and towns are trying to put some of the pieces back together, they have too much to deal with to take on any outsiders. The authorities that are left really have no choice but to essentially declare martial law, at least in the areas they are able to cordon off and control. It makes sense that they would start with an area like this, with the Straits of Florida being a natural funnel for all kinds of foreign vessel traffic in normal times. It’s just a matter of time, I’m sure, before they will have the whole Gulf coast sealed up as well. We’re really lucky we got out when we did.”
“Assuming Dad and the others on the Casey Nicole are still out too,” Casey said.
“They’re bound to be. Where else could they be? They couldn’t have slipped into the Dry Tortugas undetected any more than we could. They just about have to be on their way to the southern Bahamas too, as that’s the only place Scully knows for sure that we agreed on going. I know your dad must be going nuts with worry over you, but he would have no other choice but to go there and hope we catch up.”
Casey hoped her uncle Larry was right. It was going to take a lot of patience on everyone’s part to wait that long to find out. Even once they reached the first of the Bahaman Islands, Larry said it might take another few days to reach the Jumentos Cays and Ragged Islands and pick their way through the reef-bound passes there in search of the catamaran. All told, it was likely going to be another week before they were back together again, and that was assuming no unforeseen issues along the way both for them and the crew of the Casey Nicole.
Casey couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of all the time Jessica was spending in close proximity to Grant. She wondered if all that time together, like the time they’d had together in the swamp, would mean that Grant was getting to know her roommate far better than he knew her. He hadn’t changed his demeanor around either one of them up until they left Cat Island, but after all this additional time at sea with Jessica, Casey realized things could be different next time she saw him. She was better off not dwelling on it, she knew, but out here there was a lot of time to do nothing but think.
Casey steered west until an hour after sunset, when Larry directed her to turn southeast again. They were far enough west of the Dry Tortugas to pass well away from any land, and hopefully, the ships guarding it.
“We’ll stay on this course for about twenty-five miles or so. That’ll put us in the middle of the Gulf Stream current and we’ll turn east and go with it until we’re past Key Largo. Then we can bear off for the islands either north or south of Andros, depending on the wind.”
“Do you really think it’s going to be any safer where we’re going, Uncle Larry? Do you think a lot of other boats will already be there by now?”
“It’s hard to say, Casey. But the Jumentos Cays and Ragged Islands are about as remote as it gets in the Bahamas, or anywhere in the northern Caribbean, really. They’re a long way from the main ports, like Nassau, and they’re way off the beaten path most boats take from the Exumas to the Turks and Caicos and beyond when going down island. The main thing that helps though is all the shoal water and reefs that surround them. They’re perfect for a catamaran like the Casey Nicole, but not so much for most cruising boats.”
“Yeah, but after what’s happened, they sound like the perfect hideaway for people who know about them.”
“No doubt about that. I could be totally wrong and they could be crawling with killers like those back at Cat Island. There’s just no way of knowing. Like I said before when we were still up the Pearl River, about the only places I know of that would be truly safe are probably way the hell out in the south Pacific or up on the coast of Alaska.”
“And we’re in the wrong ocean.”
“Yep. But we have to take what we’re given. Like every other day since this happened, all we can do is keep going and deal with whatever we come across when
we get there. The main thing now is finding your dad and the others. Once we do that, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better about everything.”
“Me too.”
* * *
The forced detour and delayed end to their passage was a huge disappointment to Tara Hancock. She had been ready for this terrible voyage to be over with and ready for Larry Drager and his niece to be off her boat. It had been all she could think about in the first day and night after they found Rebecca and brought her safely back aboard, but as time went on, she had relaxed about it just a bit. For one thing, it was hard to avoid two unwanted guests in the cramped confines of a 37-foot boat. And Rebecca had made a remarkable turnaround since the end of her ordeal. The reality of how completely and irreversibly cut-off she’d been out there in the dark on the open Gulf had apparently scared the hell out her. Tara began to have hope that Rebecca’s fascination with taking the easy way out through death was over for good.
Her sullen attitude was gone and she no longer shut herself into her cabin, avoiding conversation and meals with the others. She was talking to Tara now and asking questions about where they were going and what they were going to do, as if she had genuine plans to participate when the time came.
Larry did his best to avoid both of them except as necessary in passing. He knew he had screwed up, and Tara was sure that he was embarrassed by it as well as immensely relieved that it had turned out as it did and they had found Rebecca in time. From just the little time she’d had with him before all this happened, she knew he took great pride in his skills as a sailor and that the lifestyle was everything to him. He had made a terrible misjudgment that was probably one of the worst of his career, even as he was obviously trying to get to know her and her daughter. Now, the two of them were barely speaking, but Tara knew it was time to try and smooth things over at least a bit. Several more days of this were more than she could take.
“Where exactly are we?” she asked him as she came on deck the next morning to take her turn at the helm.
Larry pointed to an area of the folded paper chart he had on the seat beside him. “Right about here. About 25 miles south of Key West.”
“And pretty close to Cuba too, then, it looks like.”
“Yep.”
“Do you really think the presence of that navy ship means that some places weren’t affected by the solar flares?”
“I really don’t know. I wish those fellows had been in a mood to give us a news update, but you could see that they weren’t. I’ve been thinking about that question a lot myself ever since. That was my first thought, for sure. It makes sense because of the amount of time that’s passed since the grid went down. But on the other hand, I know I’ve read somewhere that the military had concerns about manmade EMP attacks from terrorists or whatever, and there was something about hardening their defenses against it. If there is a way to do that, you can bet our military has it figured out. But it may have been hit or miss and it may be that there was initial damage and now they’re getting ships and other systems back online.”
“You would think they would have planes and helicopters working too though, in either case.”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too. That’s one reason I’m taking this whole thing seriously. If they do have any kind of aircraft, it would make it a lot easier to enforce their blockade of the coast. That’s why I’m not taking any chances and that’s why we’re as far offshore as we are. I don’t want to give some trigger-happy pilot or gunship captain any excuse to start shooting.”
“I hope your friend Scully and your brother feel the same way.”
“I’m sure they do. Scully doesn’t have much use for the authorities of any type. He’s not going to purposefully agitate them. I’m almost certain that he’s already sailed the Casey Nicole through the Straits here and is probably already well within Bahamian waters by now.”
“What was that your brother was saying about the problems you guys already had there? Something about stopping in the Bahamas on the way to New Orleans to find Casey….”
“It was a chance encounter. Some desperate men in an old fishing schooner that I figure were probably from Cuba. They tried to intercept us but they couldn’t catch the Casey Nicole. But anyway, that’s not the same area where we’re going this time.”
“But how do you know there won’t be more of the same? Or more people like those who murdered poor Mike and Lillian Owens on Cat Island?”
“I don’t, of course. I don’t have a crystal ball, do you? All I know is that the Jumentos Cays and Ragged Islands are remote, and for the most part remote beats easy to get to any day in a situation like this. I don’t think they’re remote enough to serve as a long-term refuge, but I do think they’re better than anyplace back on the northern Gulf coast we just left.”
Tara looked at Larry’s chart again, opening it up to show the islands that lay ahead to the east. Her parents had never mentioned the either of those places in all their talk of their Bahamas cruising on the Sarah J. Larry said that was because the chain was much harder to get to than the Exumas, and once there, you were pretty much on your own. Serious fishermen and a few adventurous sailors went there, but there were so many other easier-to-reach places to go in the Bahamas that most didn’t bother making such an expedition. Tara hoped he was right. She didn’t have a better plan and since Florida was off the table completely, there was really little else she could do other than continue to let this man she had just days before cursed and punched, make the decisions and navigate her vessel.
TWENTY-FIVE
SCULLY DIDN’T KNOW EXACTLY how it happened, but as he began to get his wind back he realized he must have lost his balance somehow when he began his descent from the palm tree. Lying there on his back in a thicket of broken bushes and tangled thorns, he could see the feathery fronds of the coconut palm silhouetted against the starry sky overhead. He had fallen probably 20 feet, and if not for the cushioning effect of all that vegetation around the base of the tree, he might not be getting back up at all.
As it was, it seemed the worst of it was that he got the breath knocked out of him more severely than he’d ever experienced in his life. It took him several minutes to even begin to feel like he wasn’t suffocating, and minutes after that to begin moving his hands and feet to be sure something wasn’t broken. But he knew he had to get up quickly. A boat had been approaching the Casey Nicole and hearing it and then seeing flashing blue police lights was what made him try to hurry back down the tree to begin with.
He was about to cut loose another cluster of coconuts when he first heard the sound of an outboard. Throwing the machete well clear before he began his descent was probably the best decision he’d made that night. Scully shuddered to think how easy it could have been to fall on the 26-inch, razor sharp blade if he hadn’t. He’d also leaned the AK-47 against another small tree before the climbed the palm. If it had been slung over his back the way he was carrying it earlier, the fall might have broken his spine.
While he was lying there, still unable to move, he’d been aware of a bright beam of light sweeping through the undergrowth and reflecting off the palm fronds above him. He knew it was from the boat that had approached, and he knew he had to recover and get moving to find out who these strangers were. Artie and Grant and Jessica were alone on the catamaran and if recent experience had taught Scully anything, it was that approaching strangers probably meant trouble. There had been no sound of gunfire that he could hear, but still the first thing he wanted to do was get his hands on that AK and get to a position at the edge of the bush where he could see without being seen.
Doing that took a lot longer than he had hoped, however, and by the time he was able to even pull himself up to a sitting position, the outboard motor he’d heard sounded like it was moving farther away. Scully crawled to the tree where he’d left the rifle and grabbed it, before pulling himself to his feet using the trunk. He couldn’t see the beach from there through all the undergrowth, so he pic
ked his way back along the path he’d cut earlier until he was at the edge of the scrub jungle. Looking out past the beach, he was shocked to see that the Casey Nicole was gone! The catamaran had been anchored relatively close—about a quarter of a mile out—but now it was not there!
Scully dashed across the beach to the water’s edge and stood there straining to see out to the dark horizon in the direction from which the motor sound came. From there, he could just barely see two boats moving away from shore. One was just a vague, but low and streamlined shape that had to be the powerboat. The other was the Casey Nicole with her sails up, easily recognizable even in the dim starlight because of her unique schooner rig with its matching square-top main and foresails. But why was she way out there? Why would Artie haul in the anchor and raise sail? And why was the other boat following them? When he’d first seen the blue flashing lights, Scully was sure it was a police boat of some kind, but now he wondered. Were the operators really pirates? Had they taken the Casey Nicole by force? But he had not heard any shots and he was pretty sure he had not been unconscious, even for a short time. There was no sign of Artie, Grant or Jessica in the water or on the beach. Scully clicked the safety off and thought about firing a few shots into the air to try and get their attention, but even if that had been a good idea given the circumstances, it would probably be futile anyway as those on the boats were probably too far away to hear the sound. Besides that, he quickly realized he’d better save his ammo. He was marooned on a beach on the Florida mainland with only one 30-round magazine. Other than the shorts and cut-off T-shirt he was wearing, his only other possessions besides his weapon were the machete and the kayak with its paddle.
His first priority was to make sure his friends had not been thrown overboard either dead or alive before the Casey Nicole was taken back to sea. He ran both ways up and down the beach first; then returned to where he’d beached the kayak and paddled around the vicinity where they’d anchored. There was no sound or movement other than the occasional splash of a jumping fish. He could find no floating debris or anything to indicate what might have happened, and it was hopeless to attempt to catch up. He couldn’t see either boat by now in the darkness, so he returned to the beach, landing near the spot where he had piled up the coconuts he’d gathered.
Voyage After the Collapse (The Pulse Series Book 3) Page 15
