The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid (17 page)

Read The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid Online

Authors: Scott B. Williams

BOOK: The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid
9.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“This is good,” Artie said, as he opened the case and examined the contents in surprise.
“It’s not your regular Boy Scout first aid kit,” Larry agreed, grimacing in pain as he spoke. “When you’re delivering boats across oceans, you’ve got to have what you need.”
“Got some good medicine in dat box,” Scully said. “De Copt’n, he know where to buy de good stuff.”
“I’ll say. Having the tools and supplies that I need will certainly make this easier.”
Artie ripped open a QuikClot sponge compress and pressed it into the deep slice in Larry’s arm.
“There’s a tourniquet in there too, Doc, if you think I need it.”
“No way, not if you want to keep your arm. We can keep the blood in check with pressure. The worst bleeding is from the ulnar artery, which is one of the main arteries in your arm. You’re lucky it’s a clean cut. The artery will seal itself off on its own if we keep up the pressure. Then we’ll clean this wound out and make sure it’s disinfected, and bandage it so it can’t open up again.”
“You gonna sew ’im up, Doctor?” Scully was still holding the makeshift compress on Larry’s head gash. Artie opened another sterile compress from the kit and gave it to Scully to replace the blood-saturated wad of paper towels.
“Not his arm, Scully. This cut is so deep, and into the bone, there’s too much chance of infection if we seal it completely, especially out here on a boat. I’m going to close it up with those butterfly sutures in the kit, and hold everything in place with some heavy tape over that. That way we can check it every day for signs of infection, in case it is still contaminated. We’ll keep the bandages changed and keep an eye on it. Do you have any duct tape on board, Larry?”
“You bet. Enough to put the whole boat back together if need be.”
“Good. Now that cut on your forehead, that’s another story. I think we can stitch that up with the suture kit in here so it won’t scar too badly.”
“De Copt’n gonna look like de pirate fo’ true now, mon. Scar on de face, big scar on de arm. De girls, dey like dat, dem.” He grinned at Larry, who didn’t look quite so amused at the prospect of a new, more rugged look.
“You oughta at least wait for daylight to sew it up,” Larry grunted. “You might be able to do a better job if you can see what you’re doing, Doc.”
“It’ll be less painful if we do it all in one go, little brother. We have enough of these battery-powered lanterns so I can see all I need to. Let’s get this arm bandaged up and make sure the bleeding has stopped, then we’ll get you up in your bunk. You can have a couple of shots of rum to ease the pain, and I’ll make it as quick as possible. It’s all gonna hurt right now, but if we get this over with now you can focus on healing after that.”
When Artie was finished, Larry was tucked into his sleeping bag in his bunk, his arm no longer bleeding and a row of fresh stitches closing the gash across his forehead and face. Dawn was breaking and the wind was calm, making the stuffy confines of the cabin stifling with all three of them down below. Artie told Larry they were going back up on deck, and that he would be checking on him every few minutes. He had been so focused on tending to his brother’s wounds that he temporarily forgot about the last of the attackers, the one fleeing in the rowboat that Scully had fired at with the shotgun. Looking around from the cockpit, Artie saw that the sea was calm and empty, with no trace of the rowboat or any other vessel. He looked at Scully and asked him what had happened after he fired.
“I t’ink I wounded ’im, mon, but he still pullin’ de oars and don’ fall out de boat. T’ink by de time I shot he too far away from de buckshot in dat Mossberg. Too bad I got no AK, or I kill him dead.”
“I don’t think he’ll be back, then, whether you wounded him or not. With two of his friends dead and no weapon but a machete, he would be stupid to try something else. I just can’t believe this happened though. Those guys were trying to
kill
us.”
“Want de boat, mon. Dem got not’ing to eat, no way to go someplace bettah. T’ree million people livin’ on dat Puerto Rico, dem got no hope wid no ship an’ no plane comin’. Dat be a dangerous place to be, mon. Lot a people from dat island happy to steal a boat like de
Casey Nicole,
loaded as she is wid food an’ watah an’ havin’ sails to go wid de wind.”
“Larry thought we’d be safe anchored off this little outlying island, but I guess he was wrong. I just wish we could get him to a doctor. He needs several days to recover from those wounds, and in a clean environment. He’s gonna need physical therapy too, and still may not get full use of his arm back. That machete cut a major nerve.”
“De Copt’n gonna be okay, mon. Rest on de boat while she sail. De Copt’n, he strong from livin’ on de sea an’ workin’ de boats. Not to worry, mon. We let him sleep an’ we do de work.”
“So you think we can continue on without his help?You know I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no idea how to navigate, or set the sails, or anything.”
“Navigation no problem, Doc. I an’ I sailin’ dis route wid de Copt’n many times. Deliver boats to Miami, Fort Lauderdale, Palm Beach…. Lots of time we sailin’ dis route. De islands, dem like steppin’ stones across de sea, mon. Hop to one, den cross to de next, all de way to Bobbylon. First Puerto Rico, den Dominican Republic, den Caicos, Exumas, Bimini…dem islands reachin’ all de way to Florida.”
“But Larry said we wouldn’t be stopping until we got to Florida. I thought we were going directly there instead of all those islands in the chain. And besides, we might get attacked again if we stop somewhere.”
“Not stoppin’, mon. Just pass ’em by. Dat way we be knowin’ de way. Wid de GPS dead we gotta sail de old way. Larry, he can use de sextant an’ get he position wid de stars, but I an’ I cannot cipher dat black magic. But wid de compass, de sun in de day and de North Star in de night, and passin’ close by some of de islands along de way, findin’ de way to Florida, no problem.”
“I guess he can help us if we
do
have a problem. He’ll probably feel like coming up on deck when the initial shock wears off and we know there’s no chance of the bleeding starting again. So which way do we go when we leave here? We’re obviously not going to stop in Puerto Rico,” Artie said, looking at the mountainous island to the west.
“No, we be sailin’ past de island on de north side. Got to stay maybe 10 mile off de coast, safe from the reef and safe from any mon in small boat tryin’ to cut us off an’ intercept. Puerto Rico ’bout a hundred mile long. Den we hop across de Mona Passage another hundred mile, den follow de coast of Dominican Republic same way. Dem got big mountains on dat island, and can see it maybe twenty mile from de ocean. No mon there he gonna catch de
Casey Nicole,
if de wind she hold and we stayin’ out dat far. An’ den we turnin’ north an’ pass through de Caicos an’ de Bahamas. Lot of little island in dem chain wid no mon livin’ on dem. Find good fishin’ an’ good divin’ for de lobstah if we stop for de break.”
“I don’t care about taking a break, Scully. I just want to get to New Orleans as fast as possible and make sure Casey’s okay.”
“Dat I understand, mon. Fo’ dat, we gonna need de Copt’n. I an’ I not knowin’ dat city or de way ’round anywhere in Bobbylon but dat east coast of Florida.”
“Well, I know enough to know that we’ve got to somehow sail
around
Florida to get to the Gulf of Mexico, I guess around the Florida Keys. And then we either follow the coast or cut straight across the Gulf to New Orleans. Larry will know which is best. After that, I don’t know how close we can get with the boat. I know people sail in Lake Pontchartrain, and there are marinas on the lakeshore, but I’ve never paid much attention to the water there. I’m always either driving or flying when I visit Casey.”
“De boat is de best way, mon. Jah nevah intend no mon to fly in de air like a fockin’ bird, and de car, dem always crashin’ on de road an’ killin’ de driver an’ de passenger too—an’ sometime killin’ some child walkin’ in de street. I an’ I t’ink dis de will of Jah to put a stop to dis madness an’ t’ink it’s why he send a mighty flash from heaven to put out de lights.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, Scully, but I do know that this has put a lot of people in a bind, and in real danger. Look what has happened already. I never dreamed I would sail through the wreckage of a plane crash, or that we would be attacked in the night by pirates with machetes. I certainly never dreamed I would be shooting at someone in the middle of the night when I went to bed, or that you would have to kill two men right here on the deck of this boat. And look at Larry…. I sure hate to think about what could happen next, and I’m worried to death about my daughter.”
“Jah he protect de righteous mon, Doc. Dem evildoers comin’ to justice now or later, and dem two pirate not de first I kill,” Scully said. “Lots of bad mon in de streets of Kingston when I growin’ up. A young mon got to fight to survive in dat place, but I leavin’ to find a bettah life in peace on de sea. Now I t’ink mehbe de peace it hard to find. I t’ink anyplace we goin’, an’ especially dat New Orleans, gonna be a dangerous place, mon.”
“All I want to do is get Casey out of there, and as soon as possible. I don’t know what we’ll do after that, but this won’t last forever, Scully. Whatever caused the lights to go out is probably over, and the grid will be rebuilt. Cars and planes and everything else will be fixed, but I know it might take some time—maybe even
a lot
of time—but it
will
be fixed, Jah or no Jah.”
An hour after dawn the tropical sun was already beating down on the decks and Artie was anxious to get underway. The trade wind had died down significantly overnight, but there was still a five-knot breeze out of the southeast, and Scully said that was all they would need to leave Isleta Palominito and sail for the open Atlantic north of Puerto Rico. Using a bucket to dip up seawater, Scully rinsed the forward decks where the blood of one of the slain assailants had stained the teak slats. Before he began his task of hauling in the anchor, Artie went below to make sure Larry was reasonably comfortable. He was relieved that his brother’s bleeding had stopped, and thankful that he was trained in what to do and that Larry’s medical kit contained what he needed to do it. A wound like his was certainly life-threatening. Things could have turned out much worse. A cloud of dark thoughts swept over him as he thought of all the people who would not be getting proper medical attention for all manner of ailments and accidents in the aftermath of this shutdown. Hospitals like the one where he worked would be flooded with people trying to get help, if they could even get to one, and then most, if not all, of them would be turned away. Some hospitals might have functioning generators that could provide basics such as lighting, but with so much dependence on electronic equipment for diagnostics, treatment, and life support, their ability to respond to the situation would be overwhelmed. If only he knew Casey was okay, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to jump right in and do his part as he had sworn to do, and he was sure there would be opportunities later, but for now, sailing to New Orleans had to be the only goal.
Artie knew he had a lot to learn about sailing and navigating, and now it was no longer merely a recreational pursuit. He was determined to absorb everything he could from Scully. Seeing how quickly last night’s attack had rendered his brother incapacitated and could as well have left him dead, Artie realized he had to take responsibility for finding their way and operating the boat on his own, as something could certainly happen to Scully too. From that morning on, he resolved to master the skills of seamanship, and when he came back on deck, he became an eager apprentice, giving Scully his full attention and following his directions just as he would defer to a senior physician explaining a complicated new surgical procedure.
“Dis boat she don’ point so high in de wind and she don’t tack like dem racin’ yacht, but she gonna fly off de wind, mon. Get out on de Atlantic side away from de island few miles, an’ de wind gonna pick up. I t’ink we makin’ 200, mehbe 220 miles a day like dat.”
Once he helped Scully get the sails trimmed to his satisfaction and all the loose ends of the sheets and halyards coiled neatly, Artie ducked into the navigation station in the starboard hull and brought out his brother’s chartbooks for the Greater Antilles and Bahamas. He wanted to study the route while the winds were light, the sun was shining and the
Casey Nicole
was skimming along the surface of nearly smooth seas almost as steadily as she had rested at anchor. Feeling her sails harness the wind like a great winged bird gliding in the breeze; Artie again marveled at the tremendous amount of work and ingenuity that went into building her. He knew then, if he hadn’t known before, that Larry could have done anything in life he set his mind to, and the skills he had learned in this sea vagabond’s life were as complex and intricate as those required for his own career path. And one thing was certain: such skills and knowledge would be invaluable in the days ahead.
Isleta Palominito faded in their wake as they sailed past the northwestern point of Puerto Rico and the condos and hotels of Fajardo that crowded the beaches and reflected the morning sun from their glass and white stucco facades. Scully was careful to keep their course well offshore here, far enough that they could see no details on the coastline and, presumably, would only be seen as a distant white sail from eyes ashore looking seaward. Scully pointed out on the chart where the reefs and other hazards to mariners were indicated, and explained how to triangulate their approximate position from landmarks ashore by using Larry’s binoculars with the built-in compass to take bearings. While it wasn’t quite as easy as looking at the moving blip that had indicated
Ibis
’s position on the electronic chartplotter before the pulse, Artie found that triangulation worked well and would make it possible to measure their progress as long as they were in sight of land. For the hops between islands, they would depend on the dead reckoning method Larry had explained to him during the last leg of their trip into St. Thomas without instruments. Keeping an accurate log was the main thing—that and keeping up with the time and knowing how to judge the boat’s speed through the water—something that Scully assured Artie he was very good at.

Other books

Eye of the Coven by Larissa Ladd
Ten Days in Tuscany by Annie Seaton
Colonel Roosevelt by Edmund Morris
Utterly Charming by Kristine Grayson
Jamie Brown Is NOT Rich by Adam Wallace
Blaze by Andrew Thorp King
Backwards Moon by Mary Losure
Always Watching by LS Sygnet