The New Madrid Run (17 page)

The sensei and Travis were loading their M16s when the preacher’s gruff voice rolled over the radio.

”
Odyssey
, this is the preacher. I can see you and the boys. I’m about a mile away and coming up from behind them. I don’t think they’ve spotted me yet.”

Travis grabbed the mike. “Listen, Preacher, get in range with that anti-tank gun and kill your engines. Christina’s gonna be on the radio. If she says, ’do it,’ take one of them out. You got it?”

“Yeah, I got it, son.”

Travis turned to Christina. “Listen carefully, Chris: Watch from the rear hatch with the mike in your hand. If I raise my right arm, or they start shooting, you tell the preacher to take ’em out. Understand?”

She nodded grimly. “You can count on it.”

The sensei and Travis stood on the bow with their weapons and faced the boats. A tall, heavyset man with dirty blond hair tied in a ponytail moved to the bow of the cutter and looked down at Travis. The man smiled, but it was more the look of a cat that has just cornered a mouse.

“Why, Captain, trying to out-run us. That wasn’t very polite.” His two crewmembers off to the side chuckled, guns resting casually in the crooks of their arms.

“Sorry if we offended you,” replied Travis, noticing for the first time that they had an Avon raft exactly like the one he’d lost tied to the deck. “Just didn’t feel like company, it being such a nice day for a sail and all.”

“Yes, it is,” the man said. “Tell me, Captain, where’d you get those weapons you have there?” pointing to the M16s with his own gun.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” answered Travis, “we met some guys a while back who sort of inadvertently gave them to us. Guess you could say they didn’t need them anymore.”

“Yes, we’ve met a few people like that ourselves,” said the fellow, with a sinister smile. His companions snickered again.

“Listen, we’d love to stay and chat,” Travis said, “but you’re holding up lunch, so we’ll just be on our way. We’ll wish you boys luck at whatever it is you do.”

As Travis started to back off slowly, the man spoke again. “Not so fast, Captain. We thought you might invite us to have lunch with you, give us a chance to get acquainted.”

“Sorry,” Travis said. “A tin of Spam only splits comfortably four ways. Maybe next time.”

The man’s smile hadn’t strayed, but his eyes went hard as he spoke again. “Well then, perhaps you’d like to give us those weapons you have, as sort of a parting gift.” Then, looking past Travis to Christina, whose head and shoulders were out of the hatch, he continued. “And maybe we might like to borrow your friend there, too. We promise to return her.”

That tore it for Travis, but he kept his composure. Looking at the man across from him he spoke slowly, menacingly. “Tell you what,
Captain
” —he spat the word back—"there are a number of possibilities here. One is that I might give you the girl and the guns, but there are probably a couple of other possibilities that are more likely, and a smart man like yourself should weigh all the odds before taking action, don’t you think?”

The big man looked down at Travis and nodded, curious.

“One of the distinct possibilities is that we could have a little shootout here, and seeing as how I know my chances of surviving are slim, I’m gonna do one thing for certain. I’m gonna make sure I cut you in half with this M16 before anything else happens.”

The man started slightly but held his position, saving face.

“There is one other important possibility that you should consider before you decide on anything,” Travis continued, “and that is, the boat you see about three hundred yards to your rear has a Light Anti-Tank Weapons System—a bazooka for you laymen—aimed at you boys.”

The crewmembers of the three ships jerked their heads around as one, eyes coming to rest on the shrimp boat in the distance.

“And if I raise my right arm,” Travis continued, “he’s gonna vaporize one of you. So I’m going to make you a deal, a one-time offer. You turn your boats around and leave quietly and I’ll call off the guy with the bazooka.”

The leader’s head swung back to Travis. Unfortunately, he was still smiling. “That’s a nice bluff, Captain, but I’m not buying it.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured you’d say,” replied Travis as he raised his right arm. There was a moment of tension on the other vessels, but when nothing happened, the crews began to laugh. “Shit!” muttered Travis under his breath, just beginning to feel desperate and stupid at the same time, when there was a whooshing sound and the boat next to the cutter disintegrated into a fireball, hurling pieces of the craft for a hundred yards in all directions.

Everyone was thrown to the decks of their respective boats, but Travis seized the moment by rising quickly and catching his antagonist as he stood up. He gave him a burst from his stomach up to his head, pretty much keeping his promise to the big man. The sensei, with his rifle on full automatic, cut down the two lieutenants by the wheelhouse before they could recover.

Travis fired a burst over the heads of the two terrified men still in the wheelhouse. “Drop your guns! Fire one shot at us, and we’ll blow you out of the water.” Guns clattered to the deck as the men came out with their hands up.

Just then Travis heard a voice he thought he recognized— ”
Jefe
!
Jefe
!”

No, it couldn’t be . . . but out of the cabin door of the cutter burst Carlos yelling, “Don’t shoot,
Jefe
! Don’t shoot! It’s me, Carlos!” Travis simply gaped in disbelief as the diminutive Cuban raced across the deck and shouted, lapsing into Spanish
, “Madre de Dios me Jefe, esta Carlos, esta Carlos
!” The Cuban paused only long enough to spit on the prostrate form of the man on the bow. “You stinkin’ son-a-bitchee,” he barked.

Recovering, Travis shouted, “Carlos, you’re like a damned Cuban cat. How in the hell . . .? Never mind, just grab one of those guns and keep those guys covered.”

The Cuban did as he was ordered, enjoying the role as he yelled at the cowering men. “Make one move and Carlos shoot you like the stinkin’ pigs you are, you bastard son-a-bitchees!”

Travis could barely repress a smile—they had done it. They’d taken the pirates, and to top it off, Carlos was back! He turned to the sensei, whose normally inscrutable face was broken by a wide grin. As their eyes met, the Japanese bowed slightly. Travis smiled and returned the bow.

They tied up the outlaws and stripped the cutter of anything valuable, from food and radio equipment to basic supplies, and they took back their Avon. They filled their fuel and water tanks from the big boat, then gave the two men just enough food and water to make land and returned them to the cutter. With no weapons and few supplies, they were likely to become victims of their own kind.

That evening, when they anchored for the night, the reunited crew discussed their position and future plans. The sensei had plotted them to be a couple of miles from the area that used to be Tampa Bay, and, as if to confirm that, the setting sun glinted off the bent and jagged remains of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge rising out of the water.

“From the looks of that, they must have received some pretty serious earth movement around here,” Travis remarked, staring at the twisted metal in the distance.

The sensei also studied the bridge. “I suspect the farther north we go, the more damage we will see from earthquakes.”

There was still no land to be seen, and they all looked forward to dispelling that empty, disconnected feeling with the sight of some solid ground.

Dinner was served on the shrimper by the resurrected Carlos. He had to tell his story several times before everyone was satisfied.

“You no gonna believe it Travees. Carlos no believe it. I fall off de shrimp boat and end up in middle of friggen’ ocean. Carlos gettin’ buried by giant waves, givin’ hisself last rites while choking on stinkin’ saltwater. Then just as he go down for last time, something bump him on back of head. There is meerical—rubber boat! Carlos crawl in and hold on to ropes ’til his fingers have no more feel. After storm, them son-a-bitchees find me and say they kill Carlos if I no cook and clean for them.”

It was an amazing story of survival. Carlos had been incredibly lucky. But then, they all had. They had survived another encounter that, by all rights, should have been disastrous.

“Not without,” the preacher reminded them, “the will of the Almighty and the Lightning of His right hand!” Which was the preacher’s new name for the LAWS. With eyes as bright as Christmas tree lights and his face aglow, the ecological evangelist described how he, the right hand of God, reached out and smote the fornicating Philistines with the rod of the Lord, wreaking righteous vengeance on those unholy aberrations.

Ah
, thought Travis,
there’s nothing like a man who enjoys his work
.

Carlos had his own name for their new secret weapon, which was probably more appropriate. He simply called it, ”
El Grande
Boom Boom!”

Travis and his crew returned to the sailboat via the
Amazing Avon
, as they’d taken to calling the raft. Carlos and the preacher bedded down in the shrimp boat.

When everyone was safely aboard the
Odyssey
and settled into the cabin, Travis headed topside to stand the first watch. As he reached the stairs, he heard Christina call from behind him, “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, come on up.” He held out his hand, and she took it. They sat together in the cockpit, looking out at the ever-constant movement of the gentle sea, illuminated only by the diamond-bright stars. Travis turned slightly, putting his arm on the rail behind Christina, looking into those incredible green eyes. “Are you doing okay?” He hesitated, not wanting to remind but to assure. “I mean with all that’s happened, today, and . . .”

She smiled slightly, with just a touch of melancholy. “Yeah, I’m okay, I’ll be fine. How about you, Captain?” You’re the one who keeps having to shoot the last of the locals around here.”

He smiled. “I’m fine. Don’t like shooting people, but it beats the alternative.”

Sitting there in the starlight, she studied him for a moment; the confidence about him, the rugged, attractive features of his face, yet the gentleness in his eyes.
A rare combination in a man,
she thought.

“Tell me, Travis Christian,” she said in that frank fashion of hers, “was there no one in your life before all this—this catastrophe?”

His eyes showed a small flash of recollection. “I had a friend,” he replied. “I don’t think I was in love, if that’s what you mean.”

She nodded solemnly, carrying it no further. It was quiet for a few moments, then she looked at him again. “Were you ever married?”

This time his face softened at the memory, though sadly. “I was married once, a long time ago. She was a French girl from Haiti. Her father owned a sugar plantation there. I met her while on an adventure with my old friend, Cody.”

“What happened?” she asked.

His face went sad and hard at the same time, and Christina knew she shouldn’t have asked. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business,” she said quickly.

“It’s all right,” he replied. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. She was killed in an attempted robbery while Christmas shopping with a friend in Miami.”

Christina touched his arm. “Please forgive me for bringing it up. I didn’t mean—”

But Travis went on, staring hard at the dark waters, as if he hadn’t heard her. “She was Cody’s friend, too. The police in Miami came up empty-handed as to who did it. Hell, half of them couldn’t find their ass with both hands, let alone solve a crime. It was just another shooting to them, something that happens five or six times a day.” He sighed angrily. “I guess, in all fairness, the cops are outnumbered and overworked most of the time. They just do what they can, and the rest just falls through the cracks. Anyway, when the police couldn’t find the killer, Cody and I went to work on it. I hired the best detective agency I could find, and Cody put the word out to all his connections in the area. It took us six months—six months of beating the bushes, but we found them. Two guys, brothers, crack addicts, looking for a quick fix to their financial problems. Yeah, we found them.”

The savage look on Travis’ face made asking the obvious question unnecessary. Christina didn’t want to know.

He looked back to her again, and his face softened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You didn’t need to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” she replied. “Maybe you needed to say it.”

As they sat there looking at each other, the cool wind rippled the water and she shivered slightly. Instinctively Travis put his arm around her and she, in turn, with a sense of comfort and ease she had not felt in a long time, moved toward him. Travis thought how natural and relaxed the moment was, without the tenseness and indecision usually found in new relationships, if indeed, this, in any sense, could be considered a new relationship. For her, it could very well be nothing more than one person comforting another after a rough day.

He gazed out at the water and spoke: “You did good today, Christina. You didn’t even flinch through that whole experience.”

She pulled away and looked up at him incredulously. “Good Lord, all I did was shout into the mike and duck. You were the one telling that guy and his little army they had to leave now because he was interrupting your lunch.”

It was so amusing, the way she said it, that Travis had to laugh. “Well, it was either that or give him you and the guns, and I really hated the idea of losing those guns.”

She pulled away and slugged him in the chest, laughing. “Try trading me for anything, mister, and you’re going to need a gun.”

In an attempt to stop her from hitting him again, he instinctively pulled her to him, and suddenly their eyes locked. Like the flow of the tides or the movement of the moon, they both knew that there was nothing that could stop the slow, inexorable path their parted lips took as they came together. There was a single, electric moment of unfettered passion as they embraced. Then suddenly, Christina pulled away, breaking the spell.