They were about halfway across, out in the middle of the swirling water between Mount Desert Island and Trenton, when Reese realized that the water was indeed receding. He had to open the throttle all the way up for them to make any progress at all, and more and more bits of trash and debris drifted past, granting them the illusion of speed.
"Hey—hey, we got a problem here," Ben said.
Reese couldn't take his eyes off of the debris field stretching to the far shore. "What is it?" he snapped, making another quick adjustment to avoid impaling their dinghy on the jagged end of a broken telephone pole.
"Dude, we’re leaking!" Ben warned.
“He’s not kidding around, there’s a lot of water up here!” Jo said, her eyes wide.
Reese looked at his feet. Sure enough, at least two inches of water swirled around the bottom of the dinghy. "It's probably fine—you always get water in little boats like this. Every time I turn, a wave comes over the side a little." He focused back on driving and lurched the little boat to starboard just in time to miss a floating blue barrel. If they capsized—or even worse, staved in the hull of their little boat—they’d be trapped out in the middle of the debris field with no chance of making it to shore.
Reese glanced at Ben and Jo. His friend, injured as he was, would almost certainly drown. Jo might make it, but she was older and not in the best of shape. Their only hope was that the current might take them close enough to Mount Desert Island to swim ashore. Reese clenched his jaws. He wasn’t going back in defeat.
Sweat rolled down Reese's neck as he doubled down on creating a path through the debris. The little engine behind him whined at full throttle. He muttered a curse, leaning forward as if to will the boat through the flotsam. There was just too much garbage, bits of tree branches, and floating debris piling up at the bow. The little motor simply couldn't power through.
“Reese, we got a leak, man,” Ben said from the bow. "Look! It's coming in right here!” Ben shifted to get a better look, throwing the boat off balance.
“We need to do something about this, captain,” Jo said.
Reese overcompensated, causing Ben to slam back against his original position. A small wave crested the gunwale, dumping another six inches of water into the bottom of the boat. Reese managed to keep them upright and avoid capsizing, but just barely. After a round of cursing by both passengers, Reese managed to regain control of the sluggish dinghy.
“Easy on the stick, there, rocket man!” Jo complained, shaking water off her arms.
Reese frowned. With the debris streaming off the coast of Maine and piling up at the bow, and now the extra weight of all the water filling the bottom of the hull, Reese was certain their forward momentum had all but stopped. It would only be a matter of moments before they began drifting backward, despite the outboard engine screaming in protest.
"We’re not gonna make it,” Reese said, angrily wiping sweat and saltwater from his face. "We’re not gonna make it.”
"You can say that again!" Ben hollered, trying to regain his seat. Soaking wet, he wiped his face and glared at Reese. "Next time give a fella a heads up! I almost went over the side!"
“Don’t argue, just do something,” Jo urged, her eyes wide.
“We’re being pushed back offshore—the current’s too strong,” Reese warned.
“If we don't plug these leaks, we’ll sink,” Ben said, hunched over with his hands under the surging water at the bow.
Jo’s face went pale. “I found a second hole!"
Reese spotted a familiar shape in the water coming toward them. The rear end of a motor yacht stuck up out of the water, its golden propellers flashing in the sunlight. He squinted but could just make out the name on the transom: Excelsior. Despite being partially submerged, the big motor yacht had survived the night, tossed against all the debris as the vestiges of the tsunami carried it toward the coast. The Excelsior drifted along with the other debris.
Reese grinned. “I got an idea! See if you can get the holes plugged—get as much water out of the bottom. We might be able to get out of this!”
"Oh yeah? How's that?" Ben asked, using his hands to scoop water over the side. "This is never going to work…
Jo moaned. “We should've stayed on that dadgum island.”
Ben looked over the bow and stopped bailing. “Reese, dude that boat’s coming right at us!"
“I didn’t sign up for the Titanic cruise--steer us around that thing!” Jo complained.
"I know, I know!" Reese snapped, concentrating. The current threatened to push them far to port, meaning they would miss his intended rendezvous with the Excelsior. He angled the tiller hard over, bringing them closer to the wrecked yacht.
Ben looked at Reese in horror. “What are you doing?”
“We’re fixin’ to crash right into it!" cried Jo.
Reese smirked. "That's the idea! Get ready, we’re almost there. That's the only thing we’re going to be able to hang onto. I saw it last night. If it survived the night and it’s still floating, it might be able to hold us. The currents can take us right back to the island. We just have to make sure we catch it."
Closer and closer, inch by inch, the little wounded dinghy struggled through the debris and clogged waters, gaining ground on the Excelsior. The big motor yacht swirled in a sudden eddy, and the aft end swung away from Reese and Ben. Watching the debris move on the surface of the water, Reese knew that the motor yacht would continue in its counterclockwise rotation. He pulled the tiller amidships and aimed for where he thought the bigger boat would be in a few moments.
"What are you doing?” Ben demanded. “We’re going to miss it!"
"No, we’re not," Reese said. He pointed at Jo. “Get to the front and hang on!”
She moved forward and took a position at the extreme front of the little wooden boat just in front of Ben. "I see what you're doing,” she called over his shoulder. “But I don’t like it!”
They ran into something hard, lifting the boat up and nearly flinging Ben off his precarious perch. When the bow smashed back into the water, Ben slammed forward, grunting in pain. "It's all right, I'm all right,” he wheezed, struggling to his knees.
"Hang on,” Reese called. "We’re almost there! Ben, move to the other side. I think I saw a couple of ropes hanging off this thing. Maybe we can snag one of those."
"Gettin’ real choppy up here!” Jo said as the dinghy entered the current that had forced the Excelsior to spin around. Reese did his best to angle their boat even closer, but in the end his calculations had been spot on. The Excelsior swung, creaking and groaning in the current, and crashed right into the side of the dinghy.
Jo scrambled for the chrome railing sticking up out of the water attached to the main deck. Ben disappeared when the dinghy dipped to starboard, but looked like he found a handrail. Reese was not so lucky—as the motor yacht turned the dinghy into a pile of splinters, Reese was flung backwards out over the motor.
His last sight before he entered the murky, garbage-filled water, was a bright yellow and orange rope dangling from the tiny mast sticking off the top of the yacht's bridge. Reese went under, surrounded by the cold Atlantic water, and felt something unseen bump into his legs—hard. His hand slapped the surface of the water and found a snake-like coil.
Desperate, Reese latched on and pulled as hard as he could. Feeling the material go taught, Reese pulled himself up until his head broke the surface. Sputtering and gasping, he opened his eyes and saw immediately that he had indeed managed to grab the rope.
"Yes!" Jo yelled. She’d already pulled herself halfway up the side of the boat and raised one meaty fist in triumph at spotting Reese emerge from the water. "You got it, man!”
Coughing, Reese pulled himself hand over hand along the rope through the current that threatened to drag him under, until he was able to wrap an arm around the deck railing. Hanging there for a moment to catch his breath, Reese began shivering in the chilly water. Using the last of his strength, he pulled him
self up and hooked a leg over the railing, before flopping to the inclined deck and gasping in relief.
“Uh…dude, I could use a little help,” Ben warned from further aft.
“You need help?” asked Jo from further forward. She looked ready to collapse and hadn’t quite made it to the main deck yet.
“I got it, stay there,” Reese groaned. He rolled over, slapping wet hands on the deck to scramble forward for purchase. Climbing foot by foot up the inclined deck, Reese managed to make it to Ben, only slipping once. Using the vertical supports for the railing as a ladder, Reese used his legs to keep himself from sliding back down into the water and leaned over. Ben held onto one end of a rickety crutch, pinned against the hull. It only took a moment for Reese to notice the pained look on Ben's face and the straining muscles of his arms.
“Can’t…can’t hold on much longer,” Ben muttered.
Reese stretched forward, grabbed hold of the crutch. “Okay, got it." Reese took a big breath. "On three, we pull together. Ready?"
Ben exhaled, blowing air out and lifting the lank hair from his face. "Got it."
"Hang on Ben, don't do anything but hang on."
"What else do you think I’d be doing down here?" Ben called in a weak voice.
"Ready? One—two—three!" Reese pulled, and the crutch came up about a foot, dragging Ben with it. "One more time,” Reese said. On three, he pulled again, and Reese was able to let go of the crutch and grabbed Ben with both hands, one on the arm, and one on his shirt collar. "Gotcha!”
Reese strained until Ben could grab the railing on his own. One more Herculean effort heaved Ben over the side, soaking wet and shivering. Both survivors lay gasping on the inclined, weaving deck, listening to a steady thump from the aft end of the boat.
"Stop the world, man…I want to get off," Ben said, panting with one arm draped across his face. Jo laughed from further forward, closer to the water.
“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” she said, chuckling again.
Reese stared at the sky above them, listening to the occasional thump. He watched the clouds rotate in a sickening, slow swirl as the eddy continued its counterclockwise spin. It wasn't necessarily fast, and he figured they'd make a complete revolution every minute or so. But the steady turning motion combined with the random bouncing of the boat on the waves wasn't doing any good for his equilibrium.
Reese flopped back over on his stomach and crawled to the very edge of the transom, perhaps six feet away. Leaning over, he saw the source of the thumping noise, and whooped in triumph.
"What is it?" hollered Ben. "You okay?"
“What’s going on back there?” Jo yelled. “Can’t see where he went…”
"Hang on, I got us a way out here!" Reese called.
“Oh good, another idea…” Jo muttered.
Reese leaned over the railing and grasped the towline of a partially submerged, black rubber zodiac with a massive outboard. As big as the Excelsior was, he had to admit he wasn't surprised to find a tender. ‘Dinghy’ didn't do it justice. He was just surprised it was still attached.
"Hello beautiful," he cooed, pulling the rope and drawing the zodiac closer. "Let's see if you can get us to shore."
Chapter 14
Lavelle Homestead
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami wiped sweat from her face with a damp rag. She stood next to the coffeemaker in the kitchen and looked at Amber and Mitch. “You guys ready?”
Amber held an orange extension cord in her dirty hands and nodded. “It’s plugged into the battery bank thing. When we want to run more than one device, we can plug it into the splitter thing, then run cords to that.” She placed the cord on the floor and stepped back.
“Not sure it’s that dangerous, man,” Mitch said with a grin.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” Cami told her daughter with approval. “Especially now that the power’s out. Who knows how long it’ll be before it comes back, and if we get hurt, we might not be able to get to a doctor.”
Mitch looked down. “Oh, right.”
“It’s all good,” Cami said. “Besides, in a moment—if this works—we’ll have a pot of coffee and we can take a break and get something to eat. What do you think about that?”
“Fire the sucker up, mom!”
Cami smiled, looking out the window at the solar arrays. They were spread some fifteen feet apart, both in the middle of the yard, but closer to the house than she’d originally planned. She’d fretted over Marty’s warning and had made sure the arrays were invisible from the street, but anyone approaching on foot around the side of the house would see them right away. There was no hiding the glare of reflecting light off those shiny photoreceptor panels.
Maybe if they moved some of her potted plants from the porch, they could disguise the arrays a little better. They weren’t that tall…
“Mom?” asked Amber.
“Oh, right,” Cami said sheepishly. “Here we go.” She plugged in the coffee maker, and though it took a second, the power light glowed blue, indicating it was off, but receiving power. She grinned at the kids, then hit the power button and the coffee maker turned on with its comforting click-hum. The water in the reservoir filled the heating tank and the familiar hiss started up.
“Yes!” Cami exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. “We did it, guys!”
Amber and Mitch cheered and high-fived each other, then Amber rushed in to hug Cami. “Dad couldn’t get it working this fast last time—nice work, mom!”
Cami stepped back from her daughter and smiled, still watching the coffee maker. “Now, while we wait for the coffee, we should figure out what’s next. Got your notebook?”
“Right here,” Amber said pertly, picking up a spiral-bound notebook and pen from the kitchen table. She sat down and opened it to the first blank page, past grocery lists, random notes, and phone numbers. “Ready.”
“Anyone got any ideas?” asked Cami. “I do, but I want to see what you two come up with, first.”
“Well,” Mitch said, scratching at his beard, “now that we’ve got power, we need to figure out the water situation, I guess. You guys on well or city water?”
“Well,” Cami replied. “But hot-wiring the well pump is more than I’m comfortable doing. Besides, that solar setup out there isn’t really all that powerful. It may take a few days to charge the batteries, and I don’t know enough about electronics to know how much power the well pump needs.”
Amber wrote WATER on the notepad, the pen scratching softly. “Is there a way to work the well without power?”
“Like a hand pump?” asked Mitch. He shook his head. “I think most wells are a hundred feet down or something, right? Besides, do you even have a hand pump?”
“No, we don’t, but good idea,” Cami replied.
“I saw a hand crank pump, or siphon or something in the garage earlier,” Mitch said. “It had a label that said it was for brake fluid replacement in cars. Maybe we could use that?”
“Not bad, but probably not. Again, the well’s too deep.” Cami couldn’t help but smile.
“You gonna tell us how to get water or not?” asked Amber. “I can tell by the look on your face you know the answer.”
“Reese and I worked out a solution a while ago. He saw a video online about guys using PVC pipe and rope to make a real skinny bucket. You drop it down the well, fill it up, and haul it back to the surface. Takes a lot more work but doesn’t need electricity or fancy equipment.”
“Does it work?” asked Mitch.
Cami sighed. “Well…that’s the thing. We never actually tried it.” She opened the big emergency binder, flipped to the tab labeled WATER, and turned a few pages until she found the printed instructions for making a PVC well bucket. “Here it is,” she said, spinning the binder around so the kids could get a look. “We stored the gear up in the hobbit hole behind the FROG.”
“Wait—you stored it in the what behind the what?” asked Mitch.
“A hobbit hole,” Amber said casually. “It’s what dad calls that little attic access hatch, about this high.” Amber held her hand even with her waist.
Mitch snorted. “Okay…what’s a frog?”
“A slimy little green thing that makes a lot of noise at night and lives in water,” Cami said, getting three coffee mugs from the drying rack. The black liquid dripped steadily into the pot, filling the kitchen with a heavenly aroma.
“Ha ha,” Mitch intoned.
“What?” asked Cami. “You set that one up…”
Amber snorted. “It means Family Room Over Garage.”
It was Mitch’s turn to laugh. “Y’all are crazy.”
“Well, we might be crazy,” Cami said, pulling the pot from the coffee maker and inhaling. “But we have coffee and a way to get fresh water.”
“Cheers to that!” Mitch said, accepting a steaming mug.
“Now,” Cami said as they settled at the table with their drinks. “Assuming water is taken care of—at least temporarily—what’s next?”
“Probably food,” Mitch replied, blowing on his coffee. “But I’d say you got that covered, even just by what I saw out in the garage.”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Cami said. “Everything out there is hardcore emergency stuff like lifeboat rations—things that won’t go bad in the heat.”
“So…you don’t have any normal stuff?” asked Mitch. “You should have said something, I have—”
“Most of the good stuff is stored in the spare bedroom,” Cami replied calmly.
“She means my bedroom,” Amber put in.
“Hey, you’re in college—we had to put that empty space to good use.”
“Okay, so I’m assuming you have a good supply of food then,” Mitch continued, looking at Amber’s list.
“We’re covered for a while, I think. There’s an inventory list in the supply—Amber’s room,” Cami said, unplugging the coffee maker. “Don’t want to waste electricity.”
Broken Tide | Book 1 | Overfall Page 15
