Landfall: Islands in the Aftermath (The Pulse Series Book 4) (2 page)

Thomas knew he had failed Mindy; just completely and utterly
failed
her. He thought they were doing okay, after all these weeks of keeping to the backwaters of the Keys and anchoring in places bigger vessels couldn’t go. They had talked often of the Bahamas, and Thomas had been trying to work up the nerve, but neither of them had ever sailed that far offshore, and as long as he’d been living in Key West he’d heard nothing but dire warnings about the hazards of the Gulf Stream. Now he knew he shouldn’t have listened. They could be somewhere safe in those islands right now, instead of here, facing death, if only he’d had the
cajones
to set sail. But he had not. Thomas had failed to take Mindy to the islands and now he would fail to protect her from these men as well.
 

Thomas knew nothing of firearms, and he’d certainly never had the slightest interest in owning one. He didn’t grow up around them and before the collapse; he could not have imagined why anyone but a criminal or a policeman would ever need one. No one in his family owned guns, and nor did any of his close friends, as far as he knew. He and Mindy had felt perfectly safe in the Keys and it was just something that never crossed his mind back then. Most people there were cool and laid back, and not prone to violence. Sure, there was petty crime like bicycle theft and the occasional break-in, but the bad stuff happened up in Miami and elsewhere on the mainland, not in Key West, at least not then.

But everything changed when the pulse from the solar flare cut off the Keys from the outside world. Food and other essentials in the local stores disappeared faster than Thomas and Mindy could have ever imagined. The only reason they weren’t completely caught without was because like most people living there, they had long been in the habit of keeping extra supplies on hand for hurricane season. But this was so much worse than any hurricane. The relief everyone on the island expected never arrived, because unknown to them, there was nowhere for help to come from that wasn’t equally affected by the same event. The idyllic island life the two of them had known became a living hell within a week. The little sailboat they’d christened
Intrepida
was the only reason they’d made it out and lasted even this long.
They had bought the boat as a way to get a taste of the sailing life they dreamed of while they both worked hard to earn the money they would need for a real cruiser. But the Montgomery 17 had a good reputation as a seaworthy boat despite its small size. Designed by a renowned naval architect, it was a proper little ship with a good ballast to displacement ratio and of stout construction. Other people had sailed them across entire oceans—but not Thomas Allen. Before the collapse, he wouldn’t have contemplated crossing even the Florida Straits in anything less than 35 feet, and preferably longer. But the 20-year-old Montgomery had turned up for sale at a price too good to pass up, and so they had bought her as a way to spend some time on the water, learning how to sail and navigate in their free time. After all, what would be the point of living in the Keys and not owning a boat?

Mindy got to spend most of her days on the water anyway, working as a deckhand on a tour boat that took tourists out to the reef for two-hour snorkeling trips. It wasn’t sailing, but it kept her keen on the life they envisioned. Thomas did his part to contribute to the dream fund by working as a chef in a popular Duval Street eatery. Sailing
Intrepida
was what he looked forward to on his one day a week off. They’d kept her on a mooring just a short bike ride and dinghy trip from their over-priced, one-bedroom apartment, and when it became apparent that it was no longer safe to stay in town, Mindy had suggested they move aboard and leave.
 

“We can sail to Fort Jefferson,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot of people with boats saying they were going to go out there until things were back under control. It’s a good place because no one can get there without a boat. The other boat people won’t bother us.”

The old fort was part of a National Park in the Dry Tortugas, some 70 miles west of Key West. But unlike crossing to the Bahamas, there was no treacherous Gulf Stream current to worry about, and they could stop along the way at the Marquesas Keys to break up the passage. It had seemed like a good plan at the time, and much better than just sitting around in a dark apartment, running out of food and sweating in the heat with no idea when or if relief would ever come. And at least on the water they could find food. Both of them liked to fish and they had fishing gear already on board, as well as several day’s worth of canned goods and snacks they kept in the lockers for their weekend getaways. It wasn’t much, and the boat was small, but once they cast off they realized they were better off than those stuck on the island with no boat at all.
 

Until this terrible night when it was all about to come to an end, they had managed okay aboard
Intrepida
. Sure, it was cramped, especially when it rained while they were at anchor, confining them to the minimal cabin. There was little below but bunks for two and barely adequate room to sit. But they realized the discomfort was worth it as they began meeting other sailors, particularly those who had sailed there from the mainland. The stories they told sent a chill down Thomas’ spine. As the days without power stretched into weeks, entire cities were swept up in rioting and violence. The police were overwhelmed and unable stop the looters from the beginning. And once store shelves were stripped, the gangs began targeting houses and even entire neighborhoods. They took what they wanted, killing anyone who stood in their way. From everything Thomas and Mindy heard, returning to any large population center would be a fatal mistake.
 

But the population at Fort Jefferson kept increasing and the anchorage had gotten crowded long before the U.S. Navy arrived and made them leave. Problems began to arise even among the boaters who had sailed there to avoid problems and violence. Disputes over anchoring spots and collisions and damage caused by the less experienced led to fistfights and brawls and even two fatal shootings. Thomas and Mindy had been frightened as the tensions grew worse, but aboard their little boat they were able to avoid most of it by anchoring in the shallows where larger vessels couldn’t. With no idea where else they could go, they’d made the best of the situation until the day the ship arrived, dispatching a boatload of armed commandos who informed everyone there they would have to leave.
 

Some of the refugees aboard larger cruisers decided to set sail for horizons beyond U.S. waters, opting to cross the straits to Cuba or Mexico, or sail east directly to the Bahamas. Thomas and Mindy considered all those options, but the thought of Cuba or Mexico frightened them as much as Miami. How could it be any better in any densely populated nation if the conditions were as bad as they’d heard they were in south Florida? Because there were so many uninhabited islands there, the Bahamas seemed like the only safe alternative in the region. But instead of risking such a long direct passage from the Dry Tortugas, they decided to make their way east in that general direction by sailing back along the chain of the Keys as they worked up the nerve to cross the Stream from a closer jump-off point. They avoided all the islands connected to the Overseas Highway and anchored mostly in the remote wildlife refuges, the majority of which were clusters of mangrove islands with little or no dry land to be found. With their relatively short mast and shallow draft, they had been able to tuck into seldom-visited hideaways, and had so far managed to catch enough fish and collect enough rainwater to survive.

They had encountered a few others in small boats living out among the mangroves, but until this encounter, no one had threatened them directly. It just so happened that the hidden anchorage where they were now was midway between Key West and the mainland, and less than a mile north of one of the most developed islands in the Middle Keys. They had seen no other boats when they approached it though, the tall mangroves completely obscuring their view of the land to the south and they hoped, hiding their presence from anyone still living there. With
Intrepida
anchored in waist-deep water just a few feet off the one little pocket beach, Thomas and Mindy had felt as safe there as anywhere else they’d stopped. What they didn’t know though, as they were settling in for the night and he was combing the nearby mangrove roots for pieces of driftwood to start a fire, was that their every move was being watched. Mindy had gone back to the boat to get a skillet out of the cabin when the two men stepped out of the dark mangroves. When she saw that they had guns, her first instinct was to hide, hoping they hadn’t seen her. When they saw that Thomas had nothing of value, maybe they would leave him alone. But they
had
seen her, and as it turned out,
she
was the one thing he had that they wanted.

Thomas did nothing as he watched the other one pull her out of the cabin of their little boat by the hair. He knew that if he moved to help her, the one with the pistol pointed at his face would pull the trigger, so he didn’t. Mindy struggled but the man who had her was much bigger, and he slapped her before pushing her over the side into the water and jumping in after her to grab her again. When she got to her feet in the shallows, he had her by the upper arm and was forcing her with him to the beach. Thomas saw her look his way, the fear in her eyes visible in the firelight. She knew as well as he did that the two of them were as good as dead once these men had their fun. Thomas considered his almost non-existent options. Would it be better to jump up and try and grab the other man’s pistol, even if it resulted in getting shot dead immediately, or wait and be forced to watch what was coming and be shot anyway? The man who had Mindy had a gun too, not a pistol but a long one of some kind slung over his back. Thomas knew that even if he could grab the pistol from the nearer one, the other one would likely shoot him before he could figure out how to use it. He had about made up his mind to try anyway when out of nowhere a thunderous gunshot rang out, and the man standing over him suddenly collapsed into the sand.
 

Thomas stared for a moment in disbelief before turning his attention back to Mindy. Two more shots sounded before either could speak and the man holding her fell too, his hand slipping from Mindy’s arm before he splashed face-first into the water. Mindy ran to the beach screaming, and Thomas jumped to his feet, his eyes straining into the dark for what new threat they now faced from somewhere unknown. He didn’t know who did the shooting, but he was certain that the man sprawled in front of him would never harm anyone again. A quick glance at the corpse was all Thomas could stomach before he had to look away. The bullet that took him out blew the man’s head apart, and something Thomas was sure could only be brain matter oozed from the opening and onto the bloody sand.

Mindy ran straight into his arms despite the uncertainty of what was going to happen next. But as he embraced her for what he feared might be the last time ever, Thomas heard a voice calling out to him. The two dead attackers where white, but this was the West Indian lilt of an islander, unmistakable from his years in the Keys, where he encountered Jamaicans and Bahamians on a daily basis.

“IT’S OKAY, MON! NOT GOING TO SHOOT! ONLY KILL DE BAD GUY TO HELP YOU OUT, MON!”

Three

W
HEN
L
ARRY
D
RAGER
OPENED
the companionway hatch and stuck his head out, he was not surprised to see that the sun was already well above the eastern horizon. He had gotten little sleep his second night on Green Cay after discovering the
Casey Nicole
aground on the surf-bound and reef strewn northern shore. The crews of both boats had worked for hours through the darkness doing the best they could to secure the 36-foot catamaran so that it wouldn’t be swept to sea or bashed to pieces against the rocks. Thankfully, the tide was falling, so that made their job easier. It would not have been feasible to try and get her back out through the surf in the dark and the rain, and the next high tide cycle would be in full daylight. Once he’d been reasonably sure the boat would still be there in the morning, Larry had turned in below, his first night aboard the catamaran he’d built in nearly two weeks. His brother, Artie gladly relinquished his bunk and followed his daughter, Casey back to Tara’s
Sarah J.,
anchored across the island on the sheltered side. Jessica and Grant stayed aboard with Larry, like everyone else, too exhausted to move and in need of at least a couple hours of sleep.
 

Larry knew Grant felt terrible, because he’d been the one at the helm when the
Casey Nicole
went aground. But Grant had never set foot on a sailboat before the voyage that brought them here, and Larry hadn’t expected him to learn the intricacies of seamanship overnight. His brother didn’t have much more experience than Grant, but Larry had trusted that the
Casey Nicole
was in good hands, because he’d left Scully, his first mate of many years in command. But Scully was missing. That thought hit Larry hard as he stepped on deck and had a look around. Scully had been left behind in Florida, and from what Artie and Grant and Jessica told him, it was not going be easy to go back and get him, even if they knew where to start looking.

Larry already knew about the presence of the navy at the Dry Tortugas, as they too had been turned away as they tried to approach what had been their destination for the first leg of the voyage. He’d sailed on because there was little else he could do, but he’d expected to reach the Jumentos Cays and find Scully and the others on the faster catamaran already waiting there. Instead, they’d made this unplanned rendezvous on a seldom-visited cay at the edge of the Tongue of the Ocean. Though it would seem an unlikely coincidence to those unfamiliar with the islands that both boats could end up in the same remote place, to Larry it wasn’t surprising at all that it had happened that way. Sailing routes through the islands were determined by navigable channels through the banks and the prevailing winds. Both boats had left Florida to sail around the north end of Andros Island before turning south, and Green Cay just happened to lie near the logical route from there to the Jumentos. If not for the water pump failure on the
Sarah J.,
Larry would not have bothered to stop there, but because of that he did, and then his brother and the rest of the crew on the catamaran had chanced upon Green Cay simply because their navigation was off track enough that they literally ran into it!