by Lopez, Rob
“Sure,” said Darla. “I, uh, I’m sure she does. Being the ideas lady and all. I mean, what would we do without her, right?”
Again, Carl gave her a strange look. “Well, let’s get a move on,” he said before ordering his helmsman to turn the response boat around.
Entering the pilothouse, Darla called for the anchor to be raised. The paddle wheels turned and Darla followed in the Coast Guard’s wake.
Aguilar appeared behind her. “You really get tongue-tied around him, don’t you?” she told Darla.
“Hey, a girl’s gotta try,” said Darla defensively.
“He’s really not into you.”
Darla glanced back at her, raising her eyebrows. “Are we in high school or something? You warning me to back off, is that it? I didn’t see him drooling over you. It’s free real estate, lady.”
Aguilar laughed. “I’m married, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she said, showing her ring finger. “I’m not interested in Carl. I’m just saying, he’s not interested in you, so you can quit blushing around him. It’s just a little too obvious, you know?”
“No,” insisted Darla, “I don’t know.”
“Oh come on, your tongue is practically hanging out when you talk to him.”
“Better than my belly hanging out,” retorted Darla.
“Ooh, burn,” scoffed Aguilar. “I’ll let that pass since you saved my butt, but I was just trying to give you a friendly warning. Reel it in before you embarrass yourself.”
Darla couldn’t think of a good reply to that and spent the next hour wrapped up in her thoughts as the riverscape passed slowly by. The storm surge was receding and the current was strong. Darla didn’t push the engine and the response boat ahead maintained a similarly gradual pace. The clouds parted and the sun shone down, illuminating the devastation of fallen trees and damaged homes on shore. A low mist burned off from the sodden ground. Debris flowed past on the brown river.
She thought back to Zack’s words — something about accepting herself. It seemed like a dumb statement on the surface. Like, what did it mean? Whether she liked herself? Felt comfortable with herself? She accepted that she was pretty screwed up, but how did that change anything? She’d been thinking that for years, largely because that’s what everyone had been telling her, but that kind of acceptance didn’t seem to have solved much. So what was the big deal about accepting herself? It was just one of those therapist phrases she’d come to loath, and whenever she’d heard it she wanted to grab the person by the collar and yell, “What do you mean?”
I lost my kid because I was a screwed up mom and my life has been a disaster from start to finish. Which part of that am I supposed to gratefully accept?
Jo would have known what to say about that and Darla wished she could ask her. It had been a while now since they’d spoken and the world had turned on its head since.
Should I be worried about you, Jo? You’ve always got things all figured out. How are you holding up? When I’m done here I gotta come see you, because I got questions.
A lot of questions, thought Darla.
A skein of geese flew overhead, following the line of the river. There was a loud bang and they suddenly veered off, as if they’d been shot at, but the noise had come from the Coast Guard boat. As Darla watched, a thick plume of black smoke issued out from the outboard and the response boat came to a halt, yawing helplessly in the current as Carl and his crewmates rushed out of the wheelhouse. Flames leaped up from the stern and the boat was soon engulfed in swirling fumes.
“Yep,” said Darla to herself in resignation. “Things really can get worse.”
She steered the boat to bring it alongside as she approached. Jacques came out on deck immediately, fire extinguisher in hand, but the Coast Guard vessel was completely obscured. The Coast Guard crewmembers emerged from the smoke as they jumped into the river. Darla ordered Manny to stop the paddles. As the Coast Guard crew splashed toward the Mississippi Rose, another detonation jetted burning fuel out onto the water. Carl and the others made it to the steamer and were promptly hauled out. Darla started the paddle wheels turning again and called out to Jacques.
“I’ll bring it in close so you can douse the fire.”
Carl came rushing up to the pilothouse, grabbing the handrail as his wet shoes slipped on the steps.
“Don’t get in there,” he shouted. “There’s ammunition and fuel cans on board.”
Taking the hint, Darla quickly spun the helm, drawing away again. “What happened?” she said.
“I don’t know. The outboard just blew and the fuel pipe’s only held on with tape. All the extinguishers were empty from last time.”
Darla circled the derelict from a safe distance, watching the aluminum hull burn fiercely as it drifted. A series of pops indicated that the ammunition was cooking off.
“You should have asked me about extinguishers,” she said. “I could have given you some.”
There was another explosion and another gout of flame, and the response boat began sinking at the stern.
Carl watched his command slowly disappearing in front of him.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I just can’t believe it.”
“Hey, you got out okay,” said Darla, steering a wider circle.
“I can’t get anything right,” sighed Carl.
“Well,” said Darla, “as boating fails go, it’s pretty spectacular.”
Carl looked at her in disbelief. “Do you think this is funny?”
Darla glanced at him. “I’m in my underwear steering my boat. How can I be serious? It’s a crapfest. What do you want me to say? Get out of your wet clothes and hang them up with the rest. Welcome to the party boat.”
20
Darla did get a kick out of seeing Carl in his underwear — a decent pair of branded briefs, no less — and it was a pleasant distraction to be leaning out of the pilothouse whenever there was a chance to catch a glimpse of him out on deck, but the rest of the journey was something of a depressing ride as they made their slow way upriver. Manny was unwilling to tax the engine, saying he didn’t think the welds would hold — a comment guaranteed to rile Darla — and the river current was still strong, bringing a flotilla of debris down. Darla hugged the shore to avoid loose barges, an overturned pleasure cruiser and even a white van bobbing in the swift waters.
“Boiler number two’s losing pressure.”
“Don’t give me that, Manny. The weld’s fine.”
“It ain’t that. We’re losing water somewhere else. Piston pressure’s down and she’s running out of sync. I think a feed pipe’s blocked.”
Darla watched a human body floating by. At least, she thought it was a body. It could have been some other debris wrapped up with some cloth.
“Can we make it to Point Clair? We can take a look at it then.”
“Only if you want to go around in circles. And if pressure is building up in the piston, it could blow, and you know we’ll have problems then.”
Darla sighed. The body that might not have been a body drifted out of sight.
“Stop all engines.”
Darla used the last of the boat’s momentum to take it into slack water and dropped the anchor. On the Texas deck she sorted through her damp clothing and selected the driest, getting herself dressed before heading to the boiler room.
“So what have you got for me?”
“Take a look for yourself,” said Manny.
Darla checked the gages and water levels. Squeezing behind the starboard boiler she stretched out to tap along one of the feed pipes with a wrench, listening as the sound changed from a bright clanging to a dull thud.
“Close the No. 3 valve,” she said.
“I reckon blowing the other pipe dislodged a mess of corrosion,” said Manny, “and refilling with river water just added to the mess. Ain’t no telling what we sucked in.”
Darla grimaced. It would be another long job locating and clearing out any blockages.
“Blow do
wn the boilers,” she said, “and hand me that other wrench. I see leaking from under the condenser.”
“If I shut down the pump, the bilges are going to flood and we’re going to sink.”
Exasperated, Darla asked, “Do you have anything positive to say?”
“You’re wearing clothes again.”
It took a second for Darla to get the insult. “Get the hell out. In fact, take a hand pump and start working the bilges.”
Manny chuckled. “I’ll get my boy Zack to go down the hole.”
After he left, Darla lay down in the confined space, checking bolts and tracing the leaks. Preoccupied for a moment, she failed to notice someone else entering the boiler room until she saw a pair of perfectly formed, hairless legs through the gap under the pipes. Tempted to whistle in appreciation, she had to admit that Carl kept himself in good shape.
“Do you wax?” she called out.
“Sure,” said Carl’s disembodied voice. “I know a good salon in Natchez, if you want me to give you the address.”
“More of a razor gal, myself.”
Carl drew up a chair and sat down, which gave Darla an even more distracting view.
“Listen,” said Carl, “I want to apologize for being a little testy earlier. I was just upset at losing my boat.”
“Hey,” said Darla, “I’m the queen of testy and you ain’t got nothing on me, I can tell you.”
Carl laughed, and it sounded to Darla like the most delicious sound in the universe.
“How come you do these jobs yourself, when it should be Manny doing them?” he asked.
“Manny’s too old and fat to get in these gaps, and this is my baby.”
Carl murmured his assent. “Where’d you learn to do all that?”
“What, insult old people or work on engines?”
Carl laughed again. “Both.”
“Ever since my grandma preferred my sister to me.”
“Must have been tough.”
“For her, maybe. I gave as good as I got.”
“So you were feisty even as a little girl.”
“Oh yeah.” Comfortable with the conversation, Darla grew bolder. “Do you like your women feisty?”
Carl sounded amused. “I wouldn’t quite put it like that. So when did you discover you had a talent for engines?”
Darla pulled a face. “I wouldn’t call it talent, exactly. Manny’s the real expert, but don’t tell him I said that. I just do what I need to do.”
“Impressive nevertheless. I don’t meet many captains who can fix their own engines.”
“You’re meeting the wrong ones. How long have you been a Coastie?”
“Only a couple of years.”
“You got a boat early, then.”
“Maybe too early. I can’t say it’s been a stellar career so far.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes.”
“The Coast Guard doesn’t appreciate their captains making too many mistakes. Especially if it leads to them losing their boats.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about a reprimand from HQ right now. Maybe later. You can always doctor your report to make it look good. I’ll be your witness. Just tell me what you want me to say.”
“Hey, I don’t want to lie in my report. I’m not that kind of guy. Besides, I’m not sure there will be a ‘later’. I’m not an optimist like you.”
“Ha!” said Darla. “I ain’t never been called that before.”
“I think you are. You always seem to think there’s a solution. Nothing seems to faze you.”
“Oof! You’re well off the mark, there. Pretty much everything gets me annoyed.”
“You still battle through. You remind me of Captain Miles Imlay. He commanded a flotilla of landing craft during the Omaha Beach landings. When I studied him in the academy, he struck me as a pugnacious kind of guy, repeatedly going in while under heavy fire. He got the Silver Star. I always wondered what it took to do that. I’m not sure I have that in me, but I think you do.”
Darla had never been so flattered and didn’t know how to respond.
“You’ve got grit, Darla. Times like these are made for people like you.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” said Darla suddenly.
The left-field question took Carl by surprise. “No.”
“Do you want one?”
“Uhh, not particularly …”
“Crap! Skip that. What the hell did I just say? I can’t believe I always say the dumbest things around you.”
Carl was dumbfounded. “Relax. Nobody died. Well, not in here, at least.”
Darla wanted to pull her hair out. “Why can’t I control my mouth? I like you, okay? Yeah, I know I’m not on your level. I bet you’ve got bimbos swooning over you in every port. Forget I said anything. Let’s just … leave it there. I’m fixing this engine, you’re sitting in your underwear, we’re cool. Nothing happened, right?”
Carl laughed. “That escalated quickly. And for the record, nothing did happen.”
“And nothing could happen … or could it?”
“Darla, I’m gay.”
“Oh.”
“So it shouldn’t be an issue. We’re just talking.”
Darla was silent for a moment. “I guess that explains the waxing.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“And I have heard stories about the Coast Guard …”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Umm … I just got to get my head around this now. Like, how unlucky can I be? The most handsome guy in the world shows up on my boat, and then this. Does your crew know you’re gay?”
“Pretty much everyone knows. Or at least I thought they did. It’s not an issue for me. Is it for you?”
“Well, duh. I was going to get my game face on.”
“Then I’ve saved you the trouble. And our conversations should be less awkward now.”
“Yeah, but not as fun.”
***
The repairs took longer than anticipated and weren’t completed until dusk. The Mississippi Rose remained moored overnight and didn’t set off again until the morning. Most of the debris on the river had cleared by then, and the passage was less hazardous. When they finally arrived at Point Clair midway through the morning, Darla was able to see the devastation wrought by the storm.
The FEMA camp had been laid waste. Pools of water filled the fields and collapsed tents were scattered about like broken umbrellas, snapped frames poking through torn fabric. Even the large medical tent had come down. Disconsolate figures picked through the remains, but the masses of people present before the storm were gone, like they’d been blown away too. The grain barges that had been grounded were missing and the jetty stood empty.
“Where’s the Pride of Orleans?” asked Carl.
Darla gazed in bewilderment at the camp she’d worked so hard to fill and supply. “Where’s all the people?” she said.
The seriously ill patients had been moved to one of the armory buildings. Ominously, fresh graves were being dug outside. Darla followed Carl into the building. A disheveled and tired looking doctor gave them his grim report.
“There was a mass breakout at the local penitentiary. They came in the night and broke into the armory. Killed two guardsmen and got away on the other steam boat. Took most of our medical supplies. We’re low on food and water, and without those supplies I don’t know how much longer I can keep these people alive.”
“Wait,” said Carl, “they hijacked the boat?”
“Didn’t look much like a hijacking to me. The boat arrived soon after they did. It was waiting for them.”
“They just got on the boat?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you didn’t see any sign of a struggle? Like, shooting their way on board?”
“None.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Darla, trying to get her head around this. “You say you saw them just walk onto the boat? It was dark. You
wouldn’t be able to see the boat from here.”
The doctor gave her a pointed look. “Ma’am, I’m not stupid. When I hear the boat whistle, and guys saying the boat’s here and they need to go, I assume the boat’s waiting for them.”
Darla grew uneasy. “When did you last see Hartfield?” she asked Carl.
“At Baton Rouge,” he replied. “He said he was going to set out as soon as he got boiler pressure. I told him to check in here and wait further instructions. That was yesterday morning.”
“It didn’t come in the morning,” said the doctor. “I told you, it came in the night. Those animals were shooting at anyone who looked like they might interfere, so I wasn’t about to take a closer look. They emptied the armory and then took off in the boat. That’s the last time we saw them.”
“How far is the penitentiary from here?” asked Carl.
“Elayn Hunt? About five miles upriver.”
“I don’t see why Hartfield would have called in there. How could they have taken his boat? What the hell’s going on?”
“Eric Whelan,” said Darla suddenly.
“Who?”
Darla found it difficult to breathe. “I warned him. I told him he shouldn’t have taken him on.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Eric,” exclaimed Darla. “He’s an ex-con. He served his time at Elayn Hunt. He was on Hartfield’s boat.”
Carl was slow on the uptake. “You’re saying this Eric guy engineered the breakout at the penitentiary?”
Darla needed air. Her heart was beating fast.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Possibly. It can’t have been a coincidence, can it?”
“You knew all this time about him and you didn’t think to tell anyone?”
“I warned Gene! I told him it was a bad idea to have him on board. We’ve got to get after that boat. Gene could still be alive.
Carl turned to the doctor. “How many of those men would you say there were?”
“Maybe a dozen,” said the doctor, “and they’re armed to the teeth now.”
Darla cursed loudly and stormed out. On the path outside she took deep breaths, trying to control her anger. A solitary, discarded can lay on the ground and she took a run up and kicked it as hard as she could, shouting again. In the distance, Aguilar and her crew stood on the levee and looked on, perplexed. Darla paced up and down, scenarios running through her mind. She felt sure Eric was behind the whole thing. Her gut was certain of it. She didn’t know how, and she had no idea what he intended to do.
