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Authors: Scott B. Williams

The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid (22 page)

BOOK: The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid
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In the outskirts of Franklinton, the highway turned north once again. They stopped for a few minutes under a large open roof covering gas pumps at a convenience store, when two local policemen who had switched from cruisers to horses waved them over and asked where they had come from and where they were going.
“What do you mean, they won’t let us in?” Grant asked, in disbelief.
“I’m just telling you what we’ve heard,” one of the officers said. “Officials in Mississippi are turning back refugees from Louisiana. They say they can’t take care of their own people, much less hundreds of thousands of people coming up from New Orleans and Baton Rouge. They’re afraid it’s going to be like another Katrina, where they’ll have a flood of people coming in who won’t leave for months—or maybe ever.”
“This situation is a lot worse, and they do have a point,” the other policeman said. “Nobody has power, either here or north of the state line, so what would they do with a bunch of refugees?”
“But we’re not refugees,” Casey said. “We have a place to go. He has his own cabin, on his parent’s land.”
“I understand,” the first officer said. “But they
are
turning people back. We’ve already seen people coming back here through Franklinton. You’re the first we’ve seen today, out in this weather, but a couple of days ago some people who had running vehicles were reporting they couldn’t get in.”
“The thing is,” the other man said, “you all have to have proof of Mississippi residence or they’ll turn you back. You have to show them your Mississippi driver’s licenses or some other official I.D.”
“We’re screwed,” Jessica said. “All I have is a California license.”
“And mine’s from Louisiana,” Casey said.
“Mine too,” Grant said. “But we
own
our own land there. It’s right on the Bogue Chitto. My parents bought it more than fifteen years ago.”
“I’m sorry to be the one to bring bad news, but I just felt like we ought to flag you folks down and tell you. I figured you were planning on passing on through when I saw the way y’all were loaded down. I hated to see you ride on up to the state line only to be told you can’t cross it.”
“I appreciate it,” Grant said. “But we’ve got to try. I’ve got to see this for myself. Everything we need is in that cabin. I don’t know what we would do or where we would go if we couldn’t go there.”
SEVEN
 
BY SUNRISE THE SECOND DAY after leaving Isleta Palominito, the
Casey Nicole
had sailed some 220 miles in just under 24 hours and made landfall off the Samaná Peninsula, on the rugged north coast of the Dominican Republic. Scully insisted on keeping their course several miles offshore, and from that distance it was impossible to tell in daylight whether or not the electricity was out on the first part of the island they could see. But from what Artie could glimpse of the land they were sailing past, there might be little indication even at night. Much of the coast here appeared to be a rugged wilderness of steep, jungle-cloaked mountains, with jagged cliffs of gray rock looming like the walls of a fortress over the sea. In only a few places were there breaks in those cliffs, and in some there could be seen the openings to small bays or coves, where Scully said there were a few tiny villages and farming settlements.
“Dem Dominican in some of dis place got no light even before Jah strike down de technology of Bobbylon,” Scully said, as Artie scanned the wild-looking coast with Larry’s binoculars. “Lot o’ dem livin’ de simple life. Catch de fish, grow de coconut, spend time wid dem family. Livin’ de way Jah people supposed to live.”
“That looks like a village we’re passing now. I can barely make it out, even with the binoculars, but it looks like a bunch of small houses or huts under that grove of palm trees beyond the beach there. I can see smoke too. I wonder what that’s all about?”
“Always fires in dem village like dat. Cooking fire, burning some brush, making charcoal.”
“So that’s not a sure sign the lights are out?”
“No, but by dark we sailin’ past de big cities on de island. Puerto Plata got about 150,000 people. Lot of light in dat place. But I t’ink all de lights made by man, dem out all over de world.”
“Well, I hope you’re wrong, but we shall see tonight then. I guess it doesn’t matter much one way or another to those villagers. I suppose you can’t miss what you don’t have. But tell me, Scully, do you really think people would be better off without technology? I know modern civilization is not perfect, but still, isn’t life the old way a hell of a lot harder?”
“Life in de island not so hard as you t’ink, Doc. In dis place we got de sun. Nevah cold all de year. Good weather for a mon and good for crops too. In dis place we got de sea an’ all de fish it provide, and wind to make de boat go. Not so hard dis life in de island, but bettah in de old days when all Jah people livin’ dis way. Now dem got big city even here. Cut down de forest, catch all de fish, an’ pushin’ Jah people into de bush to build de big hotel and casino on de beach. De youth of de island, now dem don’t want to live de simple life. Now watchin’TV an’ computer too, an’ want de flashy cars of Bobbylon. Too much stealin’ goin’ on and killin’ too, because dem not content wid de ganja herb. Want de cocaine and de money dem get to sell it. I t’ink it’s good now de TV, it can’t play.”
“Well certainly there are some ill effects brought about by technology and civilization, but still, there’s a lot of good too. Look how much freedom and opportunity we have now. Never before in human history have individuals had access to as much knowledge and as many choices in how to live their personal lives. I continue to be amazed by all the changes brought about in my lifetime—but especially most recently, with the advent of the Information Age.”
“But where dat information now, Doc? De radio, it don’t talk. GPS, it don’t track. Cell phone, dem don’t call. Airplane, dem can’t fly…. All dat technology…gone away wid a flash of light. But de wind, she still blow…. De sun, it still shine bright…. Fish, dem still swim…. An’ dis simple boat, she still sail.”
“You’re right, of course, but all that will be fixed. It’s just a matter of repairing or replacing the damaged parts. The knowledge and technology is still there.”
“But what dem forget is de
useful
knowledge. Knowledge to live in de world of Jah creation widout all dat technology. Not many in de islands, but some of de roots Rasta dem choose to live de simple life in de bush, just like de ancestor dem in Africa. I spent time in dat life too, deep in de Blue Mountains. Growin’ de food on de land, an’ de ganja too, watchin’ de sun come up each day an’ go down too. Not to worry ’bout de money or t’ings it can buy. Jah will provide if a mon is just willing to learn.”
“But isn’t that just getting by, Scully? Sure you can grow enough to eat, and keep a shelter over your head. But how long can you live that way before you get bored out of your mind? You didn’t stay there, did you? You’ve been out seeing the world with my brother. Would that have been possible without modern technology? Sure, this is a simple boat, based on a simple design that is thousands of years old, if what Larry said is true, but what about the modern epoxy used to hold it together? The fiberglass covering the plywood hulls? The synthetic Dacron sail cloth? The stainless steel hardware? All these things are better than anything you could fashion from nature, right?”
Scully just shrugged and grinned as he stood at the helm and steered. “Good stuff, dat—not to argue. But all I an’ I sayin’ is maybe now some people gonna have to learn to live a more simple life. Only time will tell, Doc.”
“Yeah, we’ll see. Let’s just get to Casey while we’ve still got a new boat to do it. I don’t plan on having to carve out a dugout on the beach just yet.”
Ten hours later, as darkness fell on the coastline they were sailing past, it became apparent that the electricity was indeed out all over the island. They passed several larger towns, and finally, Puerto Plata, which should have been brightly lit by city lights, but instead they could see scattered campfires against the dark silhouette of mountains. At Larry’s insistence, they adjusted their course to put more distance between themselves and the land, as insurance against the possibility of a collision with some small, unlit fishing boat or other vessel operating near shore. There wasn’t much point in risking sailing in closer anyway, as there was little to see in the darkness and they had no compelling reason to stop anywhere in the Dominican Republic.
“Luperon is a great place to drop the hook,” he said, pointing out a harbor entrance they passed a couple of hours west of Puerto Plata. “At least in normal times, there are always a lot of cruising boats there: American, Canadian, and European. It’s well protected in all weathers there too. The rum is cheap, the food is great, and the girls are beautiful. What more could a sailor ask?”
“Sounds like your kind of place for sure, little brother.”
“I’ve been known to stay there a few weeks at a time, between delivery jobs.”
“Ah yes, the life of a delivery skipper, I know. Like I said, most of us have to
work
for a living.”
While Scully steered the boat, Artie ordered Larry down into the galley cabin where he could change the bandages on his arm and inspect his wounds for signs of infection. He was pleased to see that there were none so far and that the deep cut was in the early stages of the healing process, although it would be a long time before he could leave it unwrapped. He had fashioned a sling for the arm from some canvas and webbing material Larry had on board, as it was pretty much useless at this point, and securing it in a sling would make it easier for his brother to avoid further injury while getting around on the moving boat.
“It still hurts like hell, Doc. I can’t even move my fingers on that hand.”
“That’s normal. I told you it was going to hurt. The swelling will gradually go down in your hand and fingers. Like I said, you’ve got nerve damage too. You have a long road ahead of you.”
“Good thing I don’t play the guitar for a living, huh?”
“Yes. Good for you and for your audience!”
“Damn, that hurts worse than the cut, Doc. You know how hard I tried to learn.”
“Well, at least you figured out you didn’t have an ear for it before it went too far. Anyway, I don’t think any lasting damage you might have from this will affect your present career too much.”
“Nah, even if I lost the whole arm I could always get a hook. Sure beats a split skull any day of the week.”
“I’ll say. And that’s what would have happened if you hadn’t put that arm up.”
“How do my stitches look, Doc?
“Beautiful! You’ll always have a visible scar, especially considering how dark you stay working out here in the sun all the time. But I don’t think it’ll detract too much from your dashing good looks, and like Scully said, it might even add to your appeal as a rugged, adventurous boat captain. One of these days, in one port or another, some pretty little lady is going to set the hook and drag you aground permanently, and your sailing days will be through.”
“That’ll never happen to me, Doc. I’ve steered clear of those reefs this long; I’ll be damned if I’m going to wreck my ship now.”
“Well, couldn’t you at least find another one who wants to sail with you? I know they’re out there. Colleen hung with you for three years. Surely you’ve thought about finding another one?”
“Nah. What I finally figured out, Doc, is that bringing a woman on a boat is like bringing sand to the beach. Kinda redundant, if you know what I mean. Best to leave ’em on the dock and look forward to the next landfall.”
“So it’s true what they say about a girl in every port?”
“Absolutely,” Larry grinned. “And what about you, Doc? It’s been, what, seven years now? Casey’s out of the house now; you’ve got to be lonely.”
“Just dating occasionally has been enough for now. I don’t want to live alone forever, I know that, but it wouldn’t be fair to get married for that reason alone. I just can’t stop comparing every woman I meet to Dianne, no matter how hard I try. It just doesn’t seem real to me that it’s been seven years. It seems more like seven months or so to me.”
“I know you miss her. I can’t imagine. You’ve done a great job with Casey, though. And I know she knows it too.”
“I just can’t lose her too. You know that, little brother.”
“I do, and you won’t. That’s why I’m here. We’re going to get you to her and we’re going to keep her safe.”
“I’m sorry it’s already cost you so much,” Artie said, looking at his brother’s arm again. “I could never do this without you and Scully. I don’t know what in the hell I would do, still stuck in St. Thomas with no way to get back to the mainland. I would go insane worrying about her. I’m worried as hell now, but at least we’re doing something about it. At least we’re in motion, thanks to you, and I can feel hope that she will still be okay and will be there when we get there.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, Artie. The campus is probably one of the safest places to be in New Orleans. Casey’s got a lot of sense. She’s not going to go wandering around town getting in trouble in a situation like this. I’ll bet she and Jessica are hunkered down at home with their friends, keeping a low profile and waiting to see if help is coming. They’ll be okay until we get there.”
BOOK: The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid
3.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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