Apocalypse Drift (39 page)

Boxer hung back from the long line of
Marinaville boats heading out into the gulf. Progress was slow in order to avoid the obstacle course of anchored ships occupying the narrow passage. The route was bordered on both sides by the Galveston Jetties. The 800-foot wide space between the protective walls of concrete and rock was congested not only with ships, but also their long anchor scope of chain and steel cable.

The jetties stretched for over 35,000 feet into the open waters of the gulf. Boxer was just closing the gap when the first of the fleet’s vessels reached the end of the breakwaters and entered the open, unprotected waters beyond. The captain of the lead cruiser didn’t report good news. “We have 5 to 6- foot seas out here. They’re rolling in pretty strong. I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”

The captain of the second boat in line quickly chimed in. “Ouch! This is going to be one very rough ride. Is there any alternative?”

Wyatt’s family, gathered on the bridge heard him grumble. “We can’t seem to catch a break. What are we going to do now? Those guys from Galveston are going to come back with a bunch of buddies if we anchor. Unless we go back up the bay, I don’t see any way to wait for calmer seas. We only have enough fuel to do that once or twice. Talk about a rock and a hard place.”

Six-foot waves weren’t normally associated with shipwrecks, and all of the vessels in the armada were designed to handle them under normal operating conditions. There was an old saying among boaters – the boat will handle more than you will. Six-footers would pound the smaller boats to death. At good speed, this trip required almost four hours of offshore travel. The high seas would lengthen that time considerably. In addition to the crews having their dental fillings jarred loose, there were other ramifications to a rough water passage.

In rough seas, things broke more often. Wiring bounced loose, hoses popped off, and machinery gave out. There wasn’t a single skipper in the fleet that wanted to spend an hour in six-foot
rollers. In addition, all of the boats were loaded with hundreds of pounds of extra supplies. Having a twenty-pound box of canned food acting like a pinball inside of the cabin was a recipe for someone or something being damaged.

The lead boats were circling at the end of the jetties, waiting on the rest of the line. Several of the captains were discussing the situation as Boxer approached. Their conversation was interrupted by a new voice crackling over the radio. “Pleasure boats at the mouth of the Galveston j
etties, this is the Diego Maru; my ship can offer shelter on our leeward side. We would also like to discuss a trade.”

Wyatt’s eyebrows lifted, and he drew David in close. “Now there’s an idea. One of the massive tankers could protect us from the waves until things calmed down. I wonder what they want to
trade.”

David shrugged his shoulders.
“Ask ’em.”

Wyatt picked up the radio
mic. “Diego Maru, this is Boxer. Go on, Captain, what do you have in mind?”

“Boxer, we are a Suez-Max class tanker of 290 meters in length. We are anchored two miles off the jetties. I’m watching your group right now. I can offer a place to tie up, my hull providing shelter. I also have diesel fuel aplenty, and would consider bartering.”

David whistled, “Wow, 290 meters is a lot of ship. That’s bigger than all of Redfish.”

Wyatt radioed the other boats, “Captains, what
do we have to lose? Anybody have a problem with nestling up to big brother until things settle down?”

No one voiced any objection. Twenty minutes later, the fleet approached the giant ship - and a giant she was. Just over three football fields in length and standing almost 10 stories high, the Diego
Maru was a floating mountain of a vessel. Even the short, two-mile ride out to the tanker had banged and thumped all of the smaller boats. As soon as the vessels starting pulling alongside the tanker, the water’s surface became almost flat.

Boxer approached what appeared to be a solid, endless wall of steel. The black hull of Diego
Maru seemed to rise straight out of the water and disappear into the sky. Wyatt felt odd being so close to something so massive. Normally, when these huge carriers were underway, pleasure boats avoided them like a mouse avoids a stampeding elephant. New boaters are warned over and over again that the huge ships can’t stop or turn. If your little fiberglass hull gets in the way, it will be crushed by the bow and whittled to toothpick-sized bits by the truck-sized propellers. It’s a visualized lesson that doesn’t often have to be repeated.

From somewhere above, giant dock lines were lowered. These ropes were as thick as Wyatt’s leg, but provided a secure point for all of the pleasure boats to tie on. A quick exchange of radio messages resulted in the captain of the supertanker agreeing to visit Boxer. Wyatt radioed for one of the
jet-skis to pick up the hitchhiking shipmaster. Before long, a single man lowered himself via the steel ladder bolted to the side of the large vessel’s hull. After a descent of several minutes, the man managed to climb aboard the Jet-Ski, and before long a passenger was aboard Boxer.

The captain of the Diego
Maru was much younger than Wyatt had imagined. In his late 30s, Captain Roland Ripple was dressed in deck shoes, khaki pants, and a bright yellow polo shirt. He sported a trim, short beard and wore a baseball hat with the logo and name of his ship underneath the embroidered title of “CAPTAIN.” Wyatt liked the man immediately.

As Captain Ripple was introduced to Wyatt’s family, he bowed slightly at the waist and shook everyone’s hand in turn. When he finally reached Wyatt, the man addressed Boxer’s master as “Captain,” a sign of
respect.

Morgan fussed over their guest, offering something to drink and eat. A glass of water was accepted and everyone sat down to talk.

“Do you have any news of what is happening? We came through the Panama Canal 21 days ago. Since arriving here, I can’t raise the harbormaster or my owners on the phone. The shortwave is dead. Other than the rest of these ships here, we don’t have any source of information - no satellite television or phone.”

Wyatt relayed what he knew, which
wasn’t much. When he described the conditions onshore, Captain Ripple’s eyes conveyed a solemn, almost sad understanding. “I’d pretty much assumed there was some sort of collapse or attack.”

Morgan asked, “What about your crew? Is everyone all right?”

Captain Ripple nodded, adding, “We’re lucky. We have a top quality sick bay and well-trained medics onboard. Most of these other vessels here are short-range haulers with limited resources. We are fully equipped and stocked for weeks. It won’t last forever, but right now I’ve only cut back on rations for a few items.”

Sage was calculating the number of heads peering over the tanker’s rail above Boxer. “How many crewmen does it take to run a big ship like this?”

“We have a total crew of 28. My seamen and officers hail from 11 different countries. I’m sure several of them are observing us right now.”

Morgan cleared her throat and asked, “Are we the first people from shore you’ve seen?”

The captain shook his head, “No. About ten days ago, a small boat approached and hailed us, indicating they wanted to trade. They tried to rob us, but my men kept them away by blasting them with our fire hoses.”

Wyatt grimaced, “I think we met your friends a little while ago. They weren’t very welcoming.”

Captain Ripple nodded. “I was listening to the play-by-play on the radio. You did a lot of people a favor. Those guys were pure thugs, career criminals. They’ve been extorting most of the vessels anchored here for several days now.”

David glanced at Wyatt, smiled
and shook his head, still not believing his father had pulled that off. “So captain, you mentioned something about a trade. What is it that you need?”

The tanker’s skipper reached in his pocket and removed a piece of paper, passing it to Wyatt. “Anything on the list would be appreciated. We have diesel fuel, some medical supplies, and a small machine shop onboard. I’m willing to make a fair trade. I’m taking the position that we are going to be here for a while. Many of the other ships have reached the same conclusion.”

Wyatt examined the list while his family peeked over his shoulder. He grunted at the first item, fishing poles. Most of the list made immediate sense, but a couple of the items defied explanation.

“Captain, what
do you mean by ‘ferry service’?”

“We have plenty of diesel fuel, but only a few weeks of food.” The man pointed at a nearby cargo ship, “That bulk carrier over there is full of rice and other foodstuffs. Their captain wants to trade because he’s short on diesel fuel for his generators. The problem is, neither of us have a launch that can ferry cargo back and forth.”

David looked skyward at the deck of Diego Maru, shielding his eyes from the sun. “What about your lifeboats? Can’t you use them?”

Ripple grimaced, “Our life
boats are flotation units only. They don’t have any propulsion. We’re working on that right now, but even if we do rig something up, it will probably only get us to shore. Some of the other vessels you see anchored here have already been abandoned. They had the old-fashioned boats with oars or motors, and many of them headed to shore days ago. I’m not sure how they fared.”

Morgan wanted clarification. “So you need a boat to haul supplies back and forth between these big ships?”

“Yes, ma’am, that would be a big help. Some of these vessels have cargo aboard that will keep the crews on other ships alive.”

Wyatt surveyed the towering behemoth beside them. “How would we load and unload the cargo, Captain? I can’t see carrying a lot of weight up and down that 10-story ladder.”

Again, Ripple had thought that through. “We have a small davit on deck. We use it to lift supplies aboard. We can raise or lower up to 2,000 pounds.”

The conversation continued back and forth for over an hour. Several times, Wyatt and Captain Ripple moved to the bridge, talking to nearby ships over the radio. By mid-afternoon, an itinerary was organized.

Wyatt looked up at David, “This is going to be a complex. It makes going to the mall with your mother and sister look simple.” The remark drew a punch on the shoulder from Morgan, who playfully snatched the list from Wyatt’s hand and examined it critically. She shared the plan with Sage, who smirked at her dad. “Piece of cake compared to our normal Saturday shopping sprees.”

Wyatt filled the airwaves with a flurry of conversation between Boxer and the other boats in the
Marinaville fleet. After he explained what had been planned, the other captains agreed, and everyone received their assignments. At first light, four of the small pleasure boats would become bulk goods haulers and shuttle supplies between their ocean-going neighbors.

The
jet-ski taxi returned, and Captain Ripple shook hands with Boxer’s master. “Wyatt, you can count on our help should you good people ever need it. I think we’re going to be here for a while.”

The ocean conditions were better the following morning, but the wind was blowing onshore, and everyone knew the
seas would continue to grow as the day progressed. Wyatt was glad they didn’t have to attempt the next leg of the journey south just yet.

Four of the
Marinaville boats were tasked to become merchant ships of a sort, while the rest remained tied to Diego Maru. One by one, the captains of the small vessels untied and moved off to load their assigned cargo. Boxer’s job was to haul three 50-gallon drums of diesel fuel to a nearby cargo ship in exchange for several dozen bags of rice.

Back and forth the nimble boats traveled, redistributing bartered goods ranging from a few small cans of yeast to several pounds of flour. The captains of the commercial vessels had evidently been communicating with each other for
days; everyone knew exactly what they needed for their crew to survive.

As the day wore on, Morgan sought to coordinate a similar list of items that were in short supply with the fleet. By late afternoon, the final load was being lifted from Boxer’s deck – winched skyward to the deck of an Argentinian bulk carrier.

David and Sage were covered in sweat, having lifted, shoved, tied, and guided several loads onto and off of Boxer’s small deck. “Who needs a gym membership with a job like this?” Sage had commented.

The fleet of little boats benefited as well. Before leaving the marina, every scavenged fishing pole, reel and tackle box had been bartered. For the sailors stuck on the commercial ships, fishing over the side would be an important food supply, so the tackle was in high demand.

Another valuable commodity was firearms. International law prohibited the big ships from carrying any weapons. The recent encounters with the pirates made everyone in the Marinaville fleet wish they were better armed. Not a single one of the pleasure boaters wanted to give up any of their limited supply, so only the salvaged pirate shotgun and a few odds and ends were offered up for trade. At one point, a crewman on a natural gas tanker had offered five gold Rolex watches as payment for Wyatt’s shotgun. “You can’t eat or shoot a wristwatch – sorry, no deal,” was his response.

The only real problem with the massive exchange occurred at dusk. Wyatt was topping off Boxer’s fuel tanks using a hand pump attached to a 50-gallon drum
, when a radio squawk requested that he visit one of his neighboring pleasure boats. After finishing with the fuel transfer, Wyatt rode the waverunner to the nearby cruiser and was welcomed aboard.