Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2) (13 page)

Howell was the first to stand. “I’ll head down to the paint locker and see what we have to redecorate the lifeboat.”

M/V
Pecos Trader

Sun Lower Anchorage

Neches River

Near Nederland, Texas

Day 28, 5:45 p.m.

Chief Mate Georgia Howell looked at the starboard lifeboat and raised her voice to be heard over the racket of the power saw. “That looks like crap.”

Beside her, Hughes nodded agreement. “That it does, but Torres is right. It will be much harder to spot.”

The previously bright orange enclosed lifeboat was now a collage of dull greens, grays, and browns of differing shades, some original from the can, and others mixed to yield over a dozen different hues. The paint was applied randomly in irregular splotches to help break up the outline of the boat. In the middle of the river, it would still be quite visibly a boat, but if Howell hugged the far bank, the boat would be considerably harder to spot against the brush, marsh grass, and mud flats bordering the riverbank in this area.

“You all set?” Hughes asked.

“We are from my side. We’re just waiting on Dan.”

She nodded to the boat, where the end of a reciprocating saw blade poked out of the fiberglass canopy, doing a jittering dance in time to the raucous roar as a cut line appeared behind it. They watched as the line traced a narrow rectangle, then the noise stopped and the saw blade disappeared back inside the canopy. There was a dull thud as something struck the inside of the canopy and the rectangle of fiberglass popped out and landed on the deck at their feet. A neat hole framed Gowan’s sweaty face.

“Whadda ya think, Georgia?” Gowan asked. “Maybe four firing ports like this on each side?”

Howell nodded. “That should do it, just so we’re not completely blind.”

“Rich is down in the engine room, cutting up some steel plate,” Gowan said. “We’ll manhandle it through the lifeboat door in sections and rig it to the inside of the canopy. We can do the same around the conning position. It might not stop everything, but it should offer considerably more protection than fiberglass.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Howell said.

“Think nothing of it.” Gowan grinned. “Besides we don’t have time to train a new mate.” He laughed as she grinned back and shot him the finger.

“How long, Dan?” Hughes asked.

“An hour, two max,” Gowan said.

Hughes nodded and turned back to Georgia Howell. “You and Torres all squared away?”

“Yeah. Twilight’s at 8:20, and he’ll start raising hell at eight. That’ll cover our engine noise and give us twenty minutes to get around the island and ready to scoot out the upstream mouth of the inlet. He’ll lay it on heavy again right at 8:20 and we’ll make our run for it then. Between him distracting any watchers, fading light, and our new paint job, I don’t think we’ll have any problem. We’ll slip around the bend into the McFadden Cutoff and hide among the reserve fleet ships overnight, then head upriver at first light. At that point, even if our engine noise carries, it’ll be coming from well upriver and they won’t connect it with
Pecos Trader
.”

Hughes nodded again. It was the best plan possible under the circumstances, allowing the boat the chance of escaping unnoticed while there was still enough light to make it to a safe haven for the night. He marveled again at just how dark a moonless night was in this new blacked-out world. There would be absolutely no references for Howell to use to navigate through the darkness, and if her own boat tried to use a searchlight, it would be a beacon to any watchers. He said a silent prayer of thanks the mothballed ships of the US Maritime Administration Ready Reserve Fleet were clustered together at anchor just around a bend in the river.

“I wish we had enough night-vision equipment to give you a set,” Hughes said.

Howell shrugged. “Me too, but we don’t, and you’ll need it more here if you’re attacked, because you know they may come at night. They’re likely terrified of those machine guns. Anyway, it’s like Torres said, our best protection is invisibility. If we have to fight it out with anyone, we’re screwed, and if they have a boat, it’s not like we can outrun them in a six-knot lifeboat.”

Hughes hesitated. “Maybe we should rethink this. We could delay a day and set up the collection point with the fast rescue boat and then send the lifeboat to pick up people after you’ve rounded them up.”

“You know that won’t work, Cap. The rescue boat can’t carry enough supplies, and besides, the cons have seen it. If it disappears, they’ll put two and two together and start looking for it. You made the right decision.”

“It’s hard to know what the right decision is when all of the options suck and any one of them might get people killed,” Hughes said, almost to himself, then louder, “But be that as it may, we have to get it done. You need anything else we CAN provide?”

“I don’t think so. The boat’s loaded with food and water, and I’m all set crew wise. Everybody volunteered, so I had ’em draw straws. I’m taking Jimmy and Pete, and I have a list of addresses and directions for all the families within a twenty-mile radius and a map with the locations marked. That’s seven families, including Jimmy’s and Pete’s.”

“Any heartburn about that?”

“Some, but everyone understands we’re doing the best we can. Truthfully, I’m not quite sure how successful we’re going to be with the twenty-mile radius, but I figure we’ll play that by ear. I’m bringing as much gasoline as we can find containers for and figure we’ll have to find transportation ashore. I’ll hit the closest families first. If they have wheels, we’ll give ’em some gas and let ’em make their own way to the collection point while we continue to the other addresses. And if they have more than one set of wheels and someone willing to help, we’ll enlist them to help spread the word and contact as many crew families as possible.” She shrugged. “So I guess we’re as ready as we can be.”

Hughes nodded. “Good plan. Did Dan talk to you?”

Howell made a face. “Yeah, Trixie’s on the list, though I didn’t really count her as one of the families. I mean, I thought the divorce was final.” She shook her head. “Though with Trixie, I guess that didn’t make much difference one way or another. How a smart guy like Dan can be so stupid about a woman, God only knows.”

Hughes shrugged. “Like they say, love is blind. And listen, bring her along if you find her and she wants to come. We owe that to Dan, but if she’s not right where she’s supposed to be—”

Howell snorted. “Not something you have to worry about, Cap. And if we don’t find her, it’s on me, not you. I know you and Dan go back a long way.”

“Fifteen years, give or take,” Hughes said, then changed the subject. “How about the Coasties?”

“I’m taking Jones and Alvarez. They volunteered, and Jones at least has some experience with the cons from when you rescued Laura and the girls.” She added, “And Torres says Alvarez is a good shot.”

“High praise, coming from Torres,” Hughes said.

Howell laughed. “Actually, what he said was ‘Alvarez is almost as good as me.’”

***

Hughes stood at the rail on the starboard side of the deckhouse, staring down to where the newly camouflaged lifeboat floated beside the ship. Behind him on the port side of the ship, he heard the roar of powerful outboards as Torres sped away from the ship at full throttle, in full view of any possible watchers. Georgia Howell heard it as well, and she looked up and waved to Hughes before stepping through the door in the rear of the enclosed lifeboat. He heard the growl of the starter then the more subdued sputter of the lifeboat engine, and watched Howell move the boat away from the ship and up the inlet, hugging the grassy shore and keeping the bulk of
Pecos Trader
between her boat and any watchers on the far bank. He murmured a prayer for his crew’s safety and moved across the ship to watch Torres’ show.

Hughes got to the port side to find the former sheriff’s patrol boat in midstream, blasting upriver at full throttle, already a quarter mile away. As he watched in the fading light, the boat turned toward the opposite bank and then downstream before throttling back to idle noisily along the far bank, as if in search of something. He smiled as the Coastie manning the M240 sent a short burst of automatic fire into the opposite bank.

***

Bolton lay prone on the concrete dock, peeping upriver over the twelve-inch-square creosoted timber that bordered the dock’s edge. “What the hell is he doin’?”

“Lookin’ for us, I suspect,” his partner said, then laughed. “But it looks like he ain’t got a clue.”

Both men flinched and ducked down behind the timber as the heavy machine gun fired.

“Looks like he’s just shootin’ at any place he thinks we might be,” Bolton said.

The other man was pressing himself into the concrete so hard his cheek was turning red. “Should we haul ass?”

Bolton shook his head. “He ain’t that far away, and this is a long dock. If he sees us and cranks that boat up, he’d be even with us before we could get away, and that machine gun will chew us up. He’s just guessin’ where to shoot, so our best bet is to keep our heads down until he leaves.”

***

Hughes watched as Torres cruised down the far riverbank, punctuating his progress with bursts of machine-gun fire at random targets. At 8:20 p.m. on the dot, he reversed course and roared full throttle back to where he’d started, then retraced his previous route downriver, his gunner firing sustained bursts at more regular intervals.
That should keep their heads down if anything will
, Hughes thought.

Light was fading fast, and in ten minutes, the opposite bank was almost invisible. Hughes heard the engine noise increase and grow nearer, then decrease as Torres throttled back and edged up to the boat’s mooring point at the bottom of
Pecos Trader
’s port accommodation ladder. Hughes watched the Coasties secure the boat and scramble up the ladder to the main deck.

“Hear anything from Georgia yet?” Torres asked.

“Not yet,” Hughes said. “It may take a while to—”

His radio crackled. “Mate to Captain Hughes. Do you copy? Over.”

Hughes keyed the mic. “Go ahead, Mate. I copy.”

“Captain, I’m on the bow and I checked the anchor chain like you asked. Everything is fine,” Howell said, using the prearranged code to let Hughes know they were safely sheltered behind a cluster of mothballed vessels and tied off to one of the big ships’ anchor chains.

“Thank you, Mate. Now get some rest. You have a busy day tomorrow. Over,” Hughes said.

“Roger that. Mate out.”

Chapter Seven

Intracoastal Waterway

8 Miles West of Morgan City, Louisiana

Day 26, 4:25 p.m.

Kinsey flipped a page in the chart booklet and nodded to himself before speaking to Bollinger over the muted roar of the twin outboards.

“Shut her down a minute, Bollinger. We need to strategize a bit.”

Bollinger pulled back on the throttles, careful not to cut speed too fast so the trailer didn’t plow into them. As they drifted in mid-channel, the outboards idling, Kinsey laid the chart booklet on the console.

“That channel we just intersected goes north to Calumet and south straight to the Gulf, so I figure we’re here,” he pointed at the chart, “less than ten miles west of Morgan City, way ahead of schedule. I think we need to adjust our plan. We’re getting into a more populated area, and the natives we’ve seen so far didn’t look too friendly. I’d just as soon not run into a large group of them.”

Bollinger nodded. They’d encountered three boats since they left Calcasieu Lock; the first two fled up side channels as soon as they spotted the Coasties’ boat. The third they’d met less than an hour before, coming toward them westbound, a large center console boat carrying four armed men. That boat cut speed and hugged the north bank, not fleeing but obviously intent on keeping their distance. When Kinsey and Bollinger motored past, the occupants glared at the Coasties and held their guns at the ready, not returning or even acknowledging the Coasties’ waves. A far cry from the friendly greetings almost universally directed at Coasties in times past.

“It won’t be full dark for at least four hours,” Kinsey said, “and we’re going right through the middle of Morgan City. We need to find a place to hole up a while, then travel at night with the NV goggles, at least through the populated areas. It’ll slow us down, but I’d like to be as low profile as possible.”

“Roger that, boss,” Bollinger said. “I didn’t like the way those guys were looking at us either.”

“All right,” Kinsey said. “Pull into the next side channel. The grass is high enough we should be able to get out of sight in the marsh while we’re waiting.”

“Maybe I can find one with a shade tree,” Bollinger joked. “Damn, I thought it was hot when we were moving, but stopped with no breeze blowing through the windows, this friggin’ cabin is like an oven.”

Kinsey looked out over the featureless marsh. “Well, good luck finding a shade tree.”

Bollinger grinned. “A guy can dream, boss.” He pushed the throttles forward and the boat roared to life.

A mile east, they rounded a slight curve in the channel and spotted an inlet entering the south bank at a sharp angle, an empty tank barge, riding high, grounded in the inlet mouth.

“Let’s check that out,” Kinsey said, but Bollinger was already changing course.

They moved into the inlet slowly, eyes on the depth finder to ensure they had enough water as they maneuvered around the stern of the barge and into the narrow width of the inlet not occupied by the barge. Bollinger grinned.

“Well, my, my. There’s our shade tree,” he said, staring down the length of the barge.

Kinsey nodded. It was late afternoon, and the high-sided barge cast a shadow over the narrow sliver of water next to it, a shady oasis in the flat, sunbaked marsh.