Voyage After the Collapse (The Pulse Series Book 3) Read online

  “We’ve got a fair wind for making our heading out to sea. I figure we ought not to waste it,” Larry said.

  “No, I agree. I put on some coffee, but we can drink it once we’re underway. Are you still planning to go around to the other side and get your kayak?” Tara rather hoped he’d changed his mind because of the favorable wind. Sailing around there would be time-consuming and tricky with all the shoals to dodge. But most of all, she did not want to have to see what she knew was around there.

  “Yes. We’ve absolutely got to have it and it can’t be replaced. Scully will take the Casey Nicole in alongside the Wind Shadow and Grant can paddle over to the beach in the other smaller kayak and tow it back. I don’t know how you feel about it, but I suggested they go through the vessel and get any useful supplies off they can find. Your friends won’t be needing them, and if we leave them aboard they’ll just be taken anyway when more of those cutthroats sail over here from West Ship.”

  Tara had not thought of this, but Larry was right. Mike and Lillian Owens would have wanted them to take anything that would be helpful. But if they could take the time to do that, then there was something else she thought they ought to do too.

  “Would it be possible to give them a proper burial? I mean just on the beach, where the sand is easy to dig?”

  “It would, but I doubt the bodies will even be around. Even if they were still afloat, the outgoing tide after midnight would have carried them away. Anything past the point would be swept out to sea fast in the currents that run by there on a falling tide.”

  Knowing she’d suggested it but that it wasn’t really an option made Tara feel better. Although it would have been a nice thing to do, she was glad she wouldn’t have to see the bodies or spend a minute there longer than necessary.

  “We won’t get as close to the island in your boat, but we will certainly sail around there with them and stand by in case there’s more trouble.”

  Tara shuddered to think about the possibility that the killers’ friends might soon be coming to look for them. She was almost certain these people had come from the group she saw on West Ship Island, and Larry agreed she was probably right. From what she’d seen, there were at least a couple of dozen people there. She would feel much safer as soon as they were over the horizon and beyond the sight of anyone on these islands.

  With Larry and Casey aboard, getting the anchor up and raising sail was exponentially easier. Soon they had cleared the entrance to Smuggler’s Cove and were sailing north along the long stretch of straight beach that faced directly to West Ship Island. Scully and the others on the catamaran were already far ahead, having untied from the still-anchored Miss Lucy they were leaving behind. The old fishing boat might fall into the hands of other murderers, but in its condition it wasn’t fit to go anywhere in any but the calmest conditions. Larry and Scully had siphoned as much of the diesel fuel from her tanks as they had jerry cans to carry, and those were now lashed to the Sarah J.’s lifeline stanchions.

  “I hope those people on West Ship Island can’t see us from that fort,” Tara said as she stared across the pass at it while they sailed.

  “Not likely. We can just make it out from here, and it’s a lot bigger than our boats. From where they are, all they’re likely able to see of Cat Island is the white line of beach and the hazy outline of the trees above it. I think we’ll slip out of here before they come looking for their missing friends. That’s why I wanted to leave early.”

  When they saw Scully steer the Casey Nicole around the north point of the island ahead of them and continue on, Larry said it must be all clear or he would have stood off to wait. Tara was relieved to hear this. She couldn’t imagine facing armed bandits like Larry, Scully and Grant had done yesterday. She hoped she and Rebecca would never come any closer to a gunfight than hearing those shots they’d heard from the beach. But considering all that her new friends had been through before meeting her, she doubted they could remain insulated from the violence indefinitely.

  Rebecca was still in the forward cabin where she’d been since the night before. Tara had gotten a sullen response out of her but she’d not opened the door or shown her face. Tara was glad she was below now, as they too cleared the point and she could see the Owens’ Wind Shadow still heeled over, its keel buried in the submerged sandbar just as it was yesterday. It was just as well that her daughter did not have to see the scene of that terrible double murder.

  With the extreme shallow draft of the Casey Nicole, Scully was able to maneuver right alongside the grounded yacht without risk of getting the big catamaran stuck. Tara watched as Grant headed to the beach in the small kayak to get the bigger one, while Scully and Artie boarded the Wind Shadow to see what they could find. Not wanting to compromise their ability to move quickly if any other boats were spotted, Larry kept the Sarah J. hove-to just outside the area of shallow water north of the island. Within a half hour Scully waved them off as he stepped back aboard the Casey Nicole, and Larry adjusted the sheets to fill the sails again and get underway. The catamaran accelerated much faster, and soon caught up. Once they were clear of the island Larry and Scully brought the two vessels close enough alongside that Grant could pass the bow painter of the smaller kayak to Casey. It was Larry’s idea to take it in tow, and he attached it to a longer line and let it trail some one hundred feet in the wake of the Sarah J., saying it was a good “last chance” for anyone who might fall overboard at sea. This done, the two boats diverged a safe distance apart, sailing side-by-side on a new course to the southeast; straight for the open horizon of the Gulf of Mexico.

  THIRTEEN

  GRANT DYER TURNED TO look back one last time at the scene of yesterday’s battle with the four who had murdered the helpless old couple on the grounded sailboat. He was glad to be leaving that place, but glad they had come back this morning too. Larry’s double kayak was simply too good to be left behind, and although the Owens’ boat was not stocked up with supplies for a long cruise like the one Tara and her daughter were on, there was still plenty worth taking. Artie and Scully had quickly offloaded the food, cooking propane and liquor they found aboard, as well as a few select tools and other useful items like another pair of nice marine binoculars.

  Until yesterday, Grant had wondered how he would feel about killing another human being. Other than Jessica, everyone else in his little group had already faced that prospect. But Grant was pleased he’d not hesitated to do what had to be done. And he’d lost no sleep over it either. People like those four who had done a thing like they did yesterday deserved no sympathy and absolutely no quarter. He doubted the Owens were their first victims, but they were certainly their last. It was a shame he and Scully and Larry had not arrived sooner, but there was no use dwelling on what might have been. At least Tara and Rebecca had escaped in time.

  It was shocking how fast everything had changed for all of them because of Tara’s arrival at the anchorage just yesterday afternoon. Grant wasn’t particularly happy about their group splitting up, even for just a few days, but he understood Larry’s reasoning and that the mother and daughter would need help sailing their boat if they were to have any hope of keeping up. Grant didn’t try to dissuade Casey from going with him on the Sarah J., but he would have certainly preferred staying on the same boat with her. He had been looking forward as well to learning all he could about sailing from Larry, but he knew there would be more opportunities later, and besides, Larry insisted Scully was as competent a seaman as he was.

  The most important thing the two skippers had to do on this Gulf crossing was to keep the two boats within visual contact of each other at all times. Without radio communications it was essential to stay in sight, but from what Larry and Scully both said, this was easier said than done. With the large difference in speed potential between the two boats in the right conditions, a constant effort would have to be made to keep sail areas adjusted and trimmed to allow a compromise both vessels could maintain. Larry said that Tara’s Tartan 37 monohul
l could sail closer to the wind than the catamaran, but off the wind the cat would be much faster. He hoped that most of the passage would entail reaching or running, rather than beating upwind, so Scully and the crew of the Casey Nicole would have to be mindful of keeping sail areas reduced so they wouldn’t run off and leave the Sarah J.

  Scully was so happy to be sailing again that he gladly attended the helm while Artie made the sail adjustments he requested. With little for him to do at the moment, Grant stood on the aft crossbeam by the mainmast and stared at the receding land astern.

  “We won’t be seeing land much longer,” Jessica said, moving there from the cockpit to join him.

  “No, I suppose we won’t. I’m looking forward to seeing what it’s like offshore. I’ve never been out of sight of land before.”

  “It’s gorgeous out there! The sunrises and sunsets, especially…. and the stars at night…. so romantic.”

  Grant wasn’t really thinking of that aspect of it, but he did expect the open ocean to be magnificent. He just hoped they didn’t have to experience its fury in a storm.

  “I guess I’m more of a landlubber myself. I like the water, but a river like the Bogue Chitto winding through the deep woods has more appeal than being out in the middle of all this emptiness.”

  “Not for me. That was scary, sleeping out in those dark woods at night! I would have died of a heart attack if I hadn’t had you to hold me,” Jessica said, moving closer.

  Grant kept his eyes on the hazy outline of the mainland astern, aware that Jessica was staring right at him as intently as he stared at that horizon.

  “You wouldn’t have died of fright, I don’t think. But I know you were scared. Those Mississippi backwoods are a world away from where you grew up in L.A. But until all this happened, probably a lot safer too.”

  “Do you really think the power and everything is out that far away, Grant? Do you think it’s like it was in New Orleans out in California?”

  “I don’t know, Jessica. I know you’re worried about your family. Maybe we will get somewhere eventually where we can get some answers as to the extent of this.”

  “I hope so. I think about them every day and wonder. But I’m happy we’re together. I’m glad you didn’t go sail on the other boat, Grant.”

  “I would have if Larry had asked me to. But he wanted to take Casey and that’s okay. He wanted me to stay here and learn something about sailing from Scully.”

  “Scully knows what he’s doing, that’s for sure. He’s got Casey’s dad to help him too. I’m looking forward to the next few days out here, Grant. We get to spend all this time together like we did when we were looking for Casey in that swamp.”

  Grant was afraid this was going to happen. Jessica couldn’t hide her interest in him, even when Casey was around. It was going to be much worse in her absence, even with her dad here on the same boat with them. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it, but it put him in an awkward position. He liked Jessica and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he couldn’t betray Casey either. It wasn’t like he’d promised either of them anything, but he wanted to be best friends with both because it was clear that they were all likely to be living in close proximity for the foreseeable future, wherever that might lead them.

  As it turned out, the transition from being within sight of land at the barrier islands to the open sea was not as abrupt as Grant had imagined. There were a lot more manmade structures far from shore than he would have thought possible, first the tall ship channel markers that led the way into Gulfport, then the vast array of silent, abandoned oil rigs that dotted the horizon once they neared the edge of the Continental Shelf.

  “Do you think there’s anybody still hanging on aboard any of those rigs?” he asked Artie.

  “We wondered about that when we came through here on the way to New Orleans. Back then, probably so; now, I don’t know. Larry said they were like self-contained little cities when they were operational, and were of course designed to run off the grid, but the fuel and supplies would run out eventually. Hopefully most of the workers got off on the crew boats. If not, I guess they’ll die there eventually. All I know is I don’t want to get close enough to any of them to find out!”

  “There must be so many desperate situations like that; so many unique places for people to get stranded. It’s hard to fathom it all.”

  “I think about the hospitals the most,” Artie said. “But of course, that’s because I work in one. It’s just horrible to imagine the suffering this has caused. And sometimes it’s hard to remember just how damned lucky we are to be where we are right now.”

  “You’ve got that right. I guess we’re better off than 99.9 percent of the population.”

  “If we can just avoid sailing into the wrong place at the wrong time, like those poor folks back there on Cat Island.”

  Grant glanced off to the port side of the catamaran and watched as the Sarah J. shouldered her way through the three to four foot seas that Artie said were the norm out here in good weather. Being a monohull, the Tartan 37 sailed on a sharp angle of heel in this wind that was coming from a right angle to their course. It looked uncomfortable to Grant, and Artie assured him that it was, recounting the horrible seasickness he’d suffered about Ibis, the schooner he’d been aboard with Larry when the pulse hit. He described the rolling and lurching motion that had him puking his guts out over the rail. It sounded awful, but so far Grant’s stomach was holding up on the catamaran. There was still plenty of motion as the hulls conformed to the wave tops and plunged into the troughs, but at least it wasn’t the kind of sickening rolling Artie described. Grant did worry that it would get worse though. It seemed that the farther offshore they sailed, the darker and cloudier the sky became. Of course they had no way to get a weather forecast, other than Larry and Scully’s experience and ability to read the signs in the sky.

  “Thunderstorm, dem comin’ most’ days dis time in de year,” Scully said, when Grant asked him about the clouds. “First time I an’ I sailin’ in de Gulf is when we comin’ here for Casey. But Larry, he know dis place an’ he seh more thunderstorm here than in de island. I t’ink mehbe he speakin’ true, too mon.”

  “How will the boat do in a thunderstorm? Do we have to worry about getting hit by lighting?” Grant looked up at the two wooden masts towering over the decks.

  “No mon know where de lightnin’ strike next, only Jah.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  “We sailed through a lot of lighting on the way here,” Artie said. “Larry didn’t seem too worried about it when I asked him the same thing. The wind and driving rain was the worst part of those systems. If we see one coming, we’ll have to scramble to get the sails reefed or all the way down, depending on how bad it looks.”

  Grant didn’t have to wait long to see what he meant. By late afternoon, when they were some sixty miles south of the barrier islands, they ran into the first of a series of squalls. Out there on open water, it was amazing how far away you could see the edge of the approaching rain. Larry and Scully had their hands full trying to keep the boats sailing at approximately the same speed so they didn’t loose sight of each other in the poor visibility. Everyone else aboard each boat had to help with the sail handling, so no one was spared a drenching, though Grant wondered if Tara’s daughter would emerge from her cabin and figured probably not.

  Thoughts of the Sarah J. were soon pushed out of his mind though when they were in the thick of it. Grant found he could barely see beyond the bows of the catamaran in the heavy sheets of horizontal rain that pelted him in the 35 to 50 knot gusts. He quickly realized why Artie said the sails had to be doused. Wind like that was more than they could stand—something would either break or tear or the boat would be capsized if it didn’t. They had to be conservative and err on the side of caution because there was no Coast Guard to call if the worst happened and no marine supply or sail loft from which to get replacements.

  The good thing about t
hese Gulf thunderstorms though, was that they were over almost as soon as they began. Each time they would see one approaching, the boats would be enveloped in rain and lashed by wind for a few minutes, then they would break though to the other side and be able to raise sail again. This went on the rest of the afternoon and into the night, though the later it got the more time they had to rest between assaults.

  Because of the coming of darkness, Scully had assigned rotating watches so that each crewmember only had to be on deck for three hours at a time. Grant had rotated off at midnight, while Jessica and Scully were still on deck. He was not expecting to be awakened until 6:00 a.m., so he was surprised to feel someone crawling into his bunk with him when it was still pitch dark outside.

  “Jessica!” he whispered. “What are you doing? What time is it? It’s still dark out!”

  “It’s a little after three. It was cold out there in the rain. I thought you might want to warm me up!” she whispered back.

  “You can’t sleep in here with me! Artie is right up there on deck. Don’t you think he’s wondering why you didn’t go to your bunk in the other hull?”

  “Who cares what he’s wondering? He’s Casey’s dad, not mine. Why do you care?”

  “Because he is Casey’s dad, that’s why! I don’t want Casey to think something’s going on between me and you.”

  “There isn’t, yet. But there could be. Casey’s on the other boat.”

  “No, there can’t be, Jessica. I’m not sleeping in the same bunk with you while Casey’s dad is right up there at the helm. It’s just not cool! Now, if you want to stay in here out of the rain, then fine. I’ll go over to the other hull and sleep in your bunk.”

  FOURTEEN

  “THAT’S A PRETTY OMINOUS-looking sky,” Tara said, as she sat in the cockpit with Larry and Casey just before they hit the first of the thunderstorms. “Are you sure we’re not sailing into a tropical storm or something?”