To the Rescue; Surviving the Black--Book 2 of a Post-Apocalyptical Series

by Zack Finley

  “I’m surprised I didn’t meet you last summer,” I said, changing the subject from an obviously painful one.

  “I missed last summer in the Valley,” Allie said. “That was when I got my boat handling experience. One of my school friends invited me on a trip along the intercoastal waterway from Louisiana to Florida. Their cabin cruiser moved a lot faster than this boat but handling it was similar. Her dad taught me about boat handling, and I got to drive a lot of the way. It was better preparation for this trip than I’d have thought. We stopped a lot along the way, to sightsee and stretch our legs. It was hot and humid. For me, the best part was our trip through the Everglades.”

  “In a cabin cruiser?” I asked.

  “Of course not, we took fan boats with guides. It was great. I was particularly intrigued by all the non-native species that were pushing out the natives. I had a very knowledgeable guide with a solid technical background, so I really enjoyed the trip,” Allie answered. “People can probably live pretty well out in the glades, as long as they don’t get whacked by hurricanes. Plenty of fish and other meat.”

  I’d spent too much time in Fort Benning, Georgia, so understood hot and humid. For some reason, the Rangers really liked training in swamps. So I understood swamps, too. Training in the high desert would have been better preparation for most of my assignments.

  “I’m heading for a nap,” Tom radioed. “Joel wanted to make sure everything was charged and ready to go. All else is okay down in the engine room, it is just very noisy.”

  “We are going to continue overnight, so get some rest,” I radioed back.

  “I figured,” Tom radioed. “Send Kurt down if you need the cabin.”

  My biggest worry was missing a zig on the river and running over one of the dikes. I hadn’t taken any courses in river navigation hazards, so wasn’t really sure why they were there. I assumed it was to provide a place, out of the channel, for sand and silt to settle out.

  Seeing the amount of wandering the state boundaries have done along the Mississippi River, I wondered how well they worked. On the maps, it is odd to see parts of Tennessee on the west side of the river and parts of Missouri on the east side. Clearly, this river had a mind of its own.

  There were a lot of dikes, nearly always on the slack side of the river. The red and green buoys the Coast Guard maintained were placed to keep commercial traffic from tangling with them. It seemed there were a lot of missing buoys.

  I offered to relieve Allie at the helm, and she accepted. After a quick sweep of the horizon, she left the wheelhouse to walk around the main deck.

  It was still overcast but no precipitation. I was sure any precipitation would be freezing rain or snow. The wheelhouse had an outside thermometer which read 30 degrees.

  We approached Caruthersville, Missouri at just after 14:00 hours. The harbor area was choked with barges. No one was navigating through there. The Mississippi River was over a mile wide here. Some areas had finger dikes on both sides of the river. I spotted these easily because of the loose barges stacked against them.

  The areas where the river current was strongest remained clear of barges. I could imagine them pinwheeling down the river just to be caught by an eddy or pinned against the shore. I worried about what happened when they encountered an obstacle in the middle of the current, like a bridge.

  We were still upstream of the I-155 bridge.

  On the depth finders, we could see indications of sunken barges on the river bottom. They didn’t quite litter the floor, but a number met their demise at this bend in the river.

  I don’t know what Caruthersville was like on land, but from the river, the multi-story grain silos dominated the levee’s edge. I hoped they kept people in this area from starving. Rafts of barges were tied off to the loading docks, likely abandoned after the crash.

  Bunches of loose barges were parked in side channels out of the main Mississippi River channel. I’d already noticed the river frequently split off and rejoined itself all along the way. Making sure one avoided these detours was one of our navigational challenges. At this river flow, many of the areas on our charts that showed brown were actually covered with water.

  It took nearly an hour to get to the Caruthersville bridge, which posed a tangle full of barges, trapped against the bridge piers. I wondered how much sideways pressure the bridge could take before a support shifted. I recalled several bridge collapses precipitated by barge collisions.

  I was relieved to see the piers seemed armored, though I would have been happier to see fenders or dolphins protecting them.

  Most of the barges were trapped against piers on the east side of the river, where the current aimed them. It was also where the main channel was. Of particular concern was a sizable raft of barges that appeared stuck against the central part of the bridge. Hundreds of other barges, some in clusters of two or three and others solo, were stacked upriver of the jammed flotilla.

  I wasn’t sure which would give first, the cabling holding the rafts together or the bridge itself. We weren’t getting through the main area until something gave. The secondary part of the span was mostly free of obstacles. It was also shallower and not in the full current.

  For the first time since we started, Allie pulled back on the throttle. We were aiming for one of the narrower openings. Still plenty wide for us and we all hoped deep enough. It showed on the charts as a secondary channel, so we didn’t anticipate any actual trouble. After all, we only needed four feet of water to get through, and the water was higher than indicated on the charts.

  “Any problem?” radioed Joel.

  “Just going under the bridge, a lot of barges in the main channel,” I radioed back.

  “Roger, I guess I’ll be able to tell if we hit anything,” Jules responded.

  Allie chimed in, “Don’t intend to run into anything, that is why I slowed down.”

  The only reply we got was a squelch.

  The bridge was packed with vehicles. The upstream side were all headed west.

  It felt anticlimactic to glide so effortlessly under the bridge span. Allie pushed us back up to cruising speed as I looked back toward the bridge. Both sides of the highway had tried to go west. Pedestrians might get through, but I suspected it would be a challenge even for our ninjas.

  Whether those on the Missouri side blocked the bridge on purpose or the rush of humanity attempting to cross it clogged the bridge wasn’t apparent from the water. This was the only way across the Mississippi River north of Memphis and south of Cairo, Illinois where the Ohio River spilled into the Mississippi River.

  America was now cut in half. One might paddle a canoe from one side of the river to another, but people and goods would not flow for a long time. Looking at the backup of barges pressing against the bridge piers, I hoped the bridge would still be intact when that happened.

  The crew who’d been sleeping most of the day began stirring as we crossed the Arkansas border. Not that anything on the river actually changed. Kurt got up and went to find Tom’s cabin.

  I sent Allie to the galley for a meal and held a quick tutorial on boat operation for the new crew. We tried out the spotlights since they would be invaluable during night time operations. According to the charts, the last reasonable place to park before Memphis was at around river mile 768. The US Army Corps of Engineers had a dock there. If we parked there until about 04:00 we’d get to the first Memphis bridge between 07:30 and 08:30.

  When Allie returned, I suggested she get some sleep in the captain’s cabin, just off the wheelhouse. She agreed, but only after confirming the guys were ready to handle the boat.

  I approved of her attitude but also found it amusing. I left them to it and went to the galley to eat. We planned to use up the cans of food we collected from the bait house before going back to freeze-dried. Having a microwave made that an easy call.

  I heated up a can of pork and beans, noting with approval, the washed out cans of various foods the guys had stacked up in a cardboard box.
While I doubted we’d make use of them, my mom would be gratified that the guys were taking her recycle and reuse guidance seriously. Even far from the Valley. We’d all heard the lecture on the different uses for metal cans.

  I ate the beans, rinsed out the can, bowl, and spoon before retiring to my bunk.

  This time I took off my boots and slipped off my outer clothing. Sleeping in a bed was pleasant, after the past week on the road.

  I dozed off thinking of the many ways to reuse tin cans. I guess it was the new version of counting sheep.

  The changing rumble of the engines woke me up. I glanced at my watch, and it was about 22:30. Time to get up. I dressed quickly, stopped by the head to do the necessary and rinsed the sleep off my face.

  I went up the internal stairs into the second story and then to the wheelhouse. Spotlights were stabbing into the darkness along the Tennessee shore.

  Allie was at the helm, and several guys were with her.

  Tom radioed, “Monitoring auxiliary boats, no problems.”

  Ben stood on the deck on the port side of the cutter, next to a gate. He had a large diameter rope coiled at his feet.

  “Mike, give Ben a hand with the rope. Remember no one jumps to the dock. Wait until we are close enough to step or someone can get squashed,” Allie radioed.

  “Roger that,” Mike said, heading out the door past me.

  Craig was watching the dock we were approaching off the port bow with his binoculars.

  “Ben, Kurt is coming your way, use him as needed,” Tom radioed.

  “Roger,” Ben answered.

  “Craig, please spotlight the cleats we need to tie up to,” Allie asked.

  Craig reached up to the spotlight controller, and the light went back on, highlighting the upstream cleat on the dock.

  “Brace yourselves for maneuvers,” Allie radioed.

  I felt superfluous but didn’t want to jog anyone’s elbows.

  Allie pulled back on the throttle as neared the dock. I was glad I’d braced myself when a sizable jolt flushed through the boat.

  “Ben, how far off the dock are we?” Allie radioed.

  “Maybe six inches,” Ben radioed.

  “Good, I’m going to ease back a bit more, when you feel safe, step onto the dock,” Allie radioed.

  “Roger,” Ben radioed. He had the gate open and stood ready to leave the ship.

  “Leaving now,” Ben radioed. He stepped off onto the dock without incident. He turned to catch the heavy rope Kurt tossed him.

  “Backing into the current to come to a full stop,” Allie radioed as she proceeded to do just that. Ben wrapped the heavy rope in a cross pattern on the cleat. Mike and Kurt were already at the front of the towboat to toss the second heavy rope to Ben.

  “Ben don’t tighten the bow line until I take up any looseness in the stern rope. Just wrap it around the cleat and prepare to snug it up,” Allie radioed.

  “Roger,” Ben said looping the thick rope over the downstream cleat.

  “Mike monitor the stern line, when it looks reasonably tight, let Ben know to snug up the bowline,” Allie radioed.

  “Roger,” Mike radioed.

  Within moments we were ready to shut down for a few hours.

  “Nice parallel park job,” I said to Allie.

  “Thanks, it was luck, the key is getting close enough, so you don’t have to correct,” Allie said.

  The rumble of the engine stopped, followed a few minutes later by the generator.

  “We are taking a nap,” Joel radioed. “Wake us when you want to get going next.”

  Allie grinned at that. She glanced at her instruments and saw nothing she had to do.

  “I’ll get a little sleep, I suspect Memphis will be a challenge,” Allie said before disappearing to her cabin.

  Ben hopped back on board, and within a few minutes, it was just Tom and me on duty. The sudden quiet was eerie. The lack of vibration beneath my feet felt odd.

  Tom joined me in the wheelhouse to coordinate our efforts.

  “How are the auxiliary boats riding?” I asked.

  “Not bad, they swapped ends, so they are pointing up river, just like they were supposed to,” Tom said.

  “Good way to secure them, I probably would have just towed them behind us,” I said.

  “Yeah, Allie seems to know her stuff,” Tom said.

  “Learn anything more about Kurt?” I asked.

  “Not much, he really seems to be a good kid. Those crappy foster parents took all the food and left him there alone. His diarrhea is under control, and I had him take a shower, so he looks 10 times better,” Tom said. “I’m going to sponsor him when we get back to the Valley. He’s old enough to live in the barracks. I bet George would really appreciate a hard worker like Kurt.”

  “If you vouch for him, I’ll back you,” I said. “We can always find somewhere hard workers can contribute.”

  “Thanks, Jeremy, I can’t believe how attached I’ve become to him. Everyone abandoned him, but he kept plugging along. You have to reward grit like that,” Tom said. “Anyway, how do you want to cover this tonight?”

  “I thought we could monitor with thermal sights from the wheelhouse and occasionally walk around the deck, to make sure the ropes are good, and the auxiliary boats are okay,” I said.

  “Sounds good to me, I’ll take the first walkabout, then we’ll swap off,” Tom said.

  I took a complete turn around the wheelhouse, first using thermal sights, then the binoculars. I was surprised to spot a navigation light across the river. It must be solar powered. I rechecked the chart and decided we were probably not parked at the Corps of Engineer’s dock. Not that it really mattered. This place was as good as any. There was supposed to be two docks within a tenth of a mile, but the first one was clearly missing.

  This was an agricultural chemical dock instead. The chemical looked a lot like ground limestone. It was probably not fertilizer since the white powder was scattered nearly everywhere. I wasn’t curious enough to check it out more thoroughly.

  Despite the height of the wheelhouse, I couldn’t see over the levee to the start of the covered conveyor belt.

  The only hot spots on my thermal scan were the glow from the engine stacks and the berthing areas. The river water was dark, and the outside air temperature was 30 degrees when the power shut down. The clouds mitigated the chill, but I doubted anyone without an excellent reason would be outdoors tonight.

  A freezing mist rose off the river in areas out of the wind. If the wind fell off, we might be socked in by morning. It could make spotting obstacles more difficult. The wind appeared to be flowing with the river, although I still suspected it was still mainly from the northwest.

  Tom joined me in the wheelhouse. It had two slightly elevated cushioned chairs against the back windows as well as the plush helmsman chair. A narrow walkway around the wheelhouse offered an excellent vantage point for checking the ropes and dock as well as our auxiliary boats.

  I left Tom on watch as I ventured out to walk around. The freezing mist made the footing slick, so I took my time. The current pushing against the stern of the Cumberland pushed up a small wave. It was no threat to slop into the boat but was a reminder of the river’s power.

  I was diligent but didn’t tarry. The moist chill sucked the warmth out of me, and I was glad to get back to the relative warmth of the wheelhouse.

  “What do you think we’ll see in Memphis?” Tom asked.

  “No clue. I’m hoping the river is clear and we can slide through without attracting the wrong kind of attention,” I said. “It will be the first city we actually get near so it could be an armed camp or a burned-out hulk. There could be a lot of desperate people there, so there is no telling.”

  “I bet there are a lot more abandoned barges there,” Tom offered.

  “Yeah, I’m worried they could be blocking the river. If we can’t get through, that will really limit our options,” I said. “I’m glad the water is up, that may be what giv
es us a way through.”

  “I’ll take my turn around the deck,” Tom announced. “It isn’t getting any warmer.”

  We swapped off trips outside for the next three hours. The wispy fog wasn’t sufficient reason to delay our trip down the river.

  At 03:00 Tom left to wake Joel, and I woke Allie. We only needed to wake one more. Ben was already sitting up in the first cabin I poked my nose in, so he was nominated.