The Directives (41 page)

Butter met her frightened gaze, the large man showing his own concerns. “It keeps getting worse!” he yelled. “
I’m seeing more garbage and projectiles blowing past. I hope it doesn’t last much longer.”

Terri started to answer, but Butter held up a hand to stop her. Turning away from the noisy opening, he pushed the earpiece tight with his hand, intently listening to a broadcast.

“No copy,” he shouted into his microphone. “I do not copy!”

Stepping further away from the door, Butter’s face was covered in a pained grimace, his ear trying to identify the dispatch. There was more conversation, but she couldn’t recognize the words.

A few moments later, he turned back to Terri, a smile on his face. “That was your husband, Miss Terri. The train is coming over the causeway. They will be on the island in a few minutes.”

For a moment, relief flowed through Terri’s veins, the sensation quickly replaced with concern as a strong gust tore through the street outside. “Can you tell him to turn around and go back?” she yelled. “I don’t think it’s safe for him to be here!”

Butter frowned, innocently asking, “Can they turn a train around?”

From Bishop’s perspective, they were traveling through nothing more than a blustery tropical storm. With the wind pushing at the locomotive’s back, he was unaware of the true severity of the situation ahead.

All of that began to change as they rolled around the last bend leading to the Galveston Causeway. Bishop could see some distance across the open waters, the island’s high-rise buildings a vague, barely visible outline in the distance.

Not only did the now-broadside winds begin to shake the train, the bay waters below the bridge were frothy white and angry.

The open spaces also provided more perspective to the density of the rain, clearly defined sheets blowing with such velocity, the scene looked more like a winter blizzard than any rainstorm the Texan had ever witnessed.

But it was too late to stop now.

As they traveled further from shore, Bishop felt the car he was riding shift from side to side. His mind filled with terrifying visions of a huge gust blowing the iron horse off her tracks and into the violent seas below.

But the Lady Star kept chugging, pulling the frightened passengers and cars of freight into the maelstrom. Crossing that bridge was the most frightening three minutes Bishop could ever remember.

The presence of wonderfully solid earth beneath the locomotive helped settle his nerves somewhat, but soon he was wondering if they hadn’t jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

Bishop heard Cory’s voice in his ear, “Captain… Captain, do you read me?” came the static-filled, hollow sounding transmission.

Keying his microphone, Bishop replied, “I copy… but barely. What’s wrong, Cory?”

“Sir, we’re going to be late reaching the island. The road we’re on is flooded out, and it’s going to take a while to backtrack.”

“Stay off the island and find shelter, Cory. Repeat, stay off the island and find shelter. The weather is worse here.”

But there was no response.

“Trouble with the kids?” Grim asked, scrutinizing the frown on his friend’s face.

“They’re blocked by a washout. I told them to stay put and find shelter, but I’m not sure if they heard me. We went out of range before they could acknowledge.”

As the train rolled through the industrial area, Bishop saw hunks of debris blowing through the air, some of the missiles quite large and potentially damaging.

More out of habit than need, the engineers sounded Star’s whistle, the signal intended to let the local dock workers know she had arrived.

“What happens now?” Bishop asked Gomez.

“There is a turn-around ahead on the line. We’ll go real slow around a tight loop and end up facing back the way we came.”

Bishop watched as they passed into a more residential area, the lack of electric crossing signals requiring the constant use of the shrill whistle. In the howling wind, the Texan wondered if anyone could hear the warning.

As they traveled further to the southeast, he began to notice flooding. The streets they crossed were inundated, standing water covering the sidewalks here and there. At one point, he thought he saw a strange-looking tractor passing between two houses, but the image quickly faded, obscured by the downpour.

“This isn’t good,” Grim announced from his side of the car. “I don’t think that’s rainwater.”

The statement compelled
all three men to turn toward the east, the understatement of Grim’s observation sending a chill through Bishop’s soul. There were people running toward the train, a three-foot high wall of water chasing after them.

The locomotive’s route blocked their view, none of the men able to see the results of the race, all of them realizing they were going to be passing back the same way after the loop.

“What was that?” Grim questioned. “Is there a river or dam in that direction that overflowed or gave way?”

“I think the seawall has been breached,” Bishop replied. “I’ll bet my day’s pay we have just rolled into the middle of a hurricane.”

Corky was called to the bridge, the first mate’s tone making it clear he should hurry.

“The barometric pressure just dipped again, s
ir. We are now officially in a Category 2 storm, and the mercury is still falling.”

“Shit,” hissed the captain. “I was worried about this. Any word from our patrols?”

“No, sir, not yet. I’m concerned their radios aren’t powerful enough to penetrate the storm.”

Corky thought about that for a moment, unsure if the rain-thick air would hinder transmission distances. It gave him an idea.

Turning to a sophisticated electronic panel, he flipped two switches and then focused on one of the three television-like screens mounted flush in the helm.

A few moments later, a colorful image of a map appeared, a solid line sweeping in a circle like the second hand of a watch. “Sir, the radar is for surface objects. Without the NOAH feed, it won’t show weather patterns, will it?”

Grunting, Corky began adjusting the knob, tweaking the control labeled, “Gain.”

“A
wise old Cajun once told me that a ship’s radar was like a guitar, some men could coax it to sing like an orchestra, others could only make noise. When you’re caught in a Biloxi fog on a dark night, and you know there are freighters about that can crush your hull like a twig, you learn to make this little instrument perform like the Philharmonic.”

He then touched the screen and said, “I’m switching to the 72 nautical mile range with a very low gain. I used to be able to pick out squall lines on the old models. I’m not sure about these new digital units.”

As he adjusted the control, the display changed drastically. The solid mass of green returns, the radar’s energy beams bouncing back off of the rain, began to fade, eventually turning into a fuzzy image similar to the snow on an old black and white television.

Now barely manipulating the knobs, Corky arrived at a configuration he felt provided the most accurate picture. The next
sweep of the phased array antenna made the experienced seaman inhale sharply.

“We’re in trouble,” he mumbled, causing his second in command to peek
over his shoulder.

“God help us,” was the whispered reaction.

Out in the gulf, the radar painted a clear picture of a simple half-circle. There, 60 miles offshore, the gentle, soft-green fuzz of precipitation thickened, becoming a clear, solid shape like a quarter moon. The eye-wall. The center of a well-defined hurricane. The most deadly, ferocious part of the storm, and it was headed directly at them.

The display in front of the captain provided a cascade of answers to questions he never wanted to ask. He knew the direction of the storm from the wind and rain, now he could judge its girth. It wasn’t a
monster – he’d seen bigger. But the eye was tight, compact and moving quickly – a sign of ferocity. His equipment informed him of the storm’s speed – 26 knots. It would slam into the island in two hours.

“Warn the crews and the tractors,” he ordered.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And I would broadcast a warning on all frequencies. Maybe the military in Houston will have time to save a few people… move them out of the low-lying areas.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

He returned to the window, knowing the radar wasn’t going to change its story. In the pre-collapse days, they would’ve had warning – perhaps days. Now, it was too late. The thick glass protecting their little cocoon of calm was misleading. There wasn’t the equipment available to move people off the island, yet the storm-surge would most likely submerge the entire land mass with several feet of water.

He didn’t have buses, not that they would be able to leave now. No one had gasoline for private vehicles, and the roads were already flooded.

The mate reached for the radio, but a voice sounded before he could raise the microphone. “
Queen
,
Queen
, this is unit two; the train just arrived.”

Corky rubbed his eyes, more from stress than fatigue. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

Small puddles of water began pooling on the coach’s floor, runoff from the raingear of the men hastily summoned for an emergency meeting.

Terri’s RV was the only place quiet enough for everyone to be heard, the wind’s constant wail making conversation nearly impossible in the warehouse.

“We need to go retrieve my husband and his team,” Terri opened. “How do we do that?”

Slim looked around the gathered men, knowing his boss wasn’t going to like the answer. “Our trucks are 4-wheel drive, ma’am, but that won’t help with high water. There’s no way we can drive this coach in that wind.”

“Can they walk here? Should we send someone to guide them in?”

Again, it was up to Slim to deliver the bad news. “I had to pull the foot patrols inside just ten minutes ago, ma’am. One of our men was almost hit by a flying sheet of plywood. You can’t walk out there.”

Butter spoke up, “We’ve got the Humvee. It has that raised exhaust stack. Aren’t they supposed to be able to handle really deep water?”

“It’s an up-armored version… heavy as hell… I don’t think the wind would move it much,” another man added.

But Slim didn’t like it. “That vehicle is the only thing we have that can get Miss Terri and the baby out of here if the water continues to rise. I was holding it back in reserve in case we had to get them to high ground. What if something happened to the Humvee on the way to the depot? We would be out of options if the water continues to rise.”