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Authors: Scott B. Williams

The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid (9 page)

BOOK: The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid
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Larry changed the subject back to the power outage as he stared across the harbor to the island. “I wonder how long it will be before people start to panic. If what we typically see after a big hurricane is any indication, it won’t be much longer.”
“We haven’t been here for one of those yet,” Pete said. “This is our first year of cruising since we both retired and bought the boat. We just got here right after Christmas. We spent the fall in Key West.”
“I’ve been down in these islands long enough to see it all. You’re right to say all of us out here on boats are better off. It’s probably going to get ugly ashore pretty quick. Especially here in Charlotte Amalie and the other crowded places. Even this harbor probably won’t be safe, so you ought to think about moving somewhere more remote. Only thing is, you don’t have many choices with that seven-foot draft.”
“I don’t see how we could be in any danger out here,” Maryanne said. “There are so many other boats around. Who’s going to bother us?”
“Well,” said Larry, “to people ashore, especially the gangs that don’t need an excuse like this anyway, a boat like
Celebration
is a gold mine. They know it’s full of expensive hardware, not to mention the food and water everyone is soon going to be desperate for. Cruisers have been targeted here before, and especially in St. Croix after Hurricane Hugo and some of the other really bad ones. I’m talking robbery, murder, gang rape, you name it.”
Maryanne shuddered and looked at her husband. “Sounds like a realistic scenario to me,” Pete said. “The question is, where
do
we go? I thought we might be better off here than back home, depending on how big this thing really is. I mean, if the same pulse took out everything in the States, it might be even worse there. Look how dependent everything up there is on the power grid, not to mention transportation.”
“It’s hard to believe this has shut down automobiles,” Artie said. “I never would have thought about that. Of course, I never would have thought about it causing airplanes to crash either. I can’t believe I’m stuck here now with no way to get back to New Orleans or even to call Casey and check on her.”
“His daughter,” Larry explained. “Artie was just with me for a few days of vacation.”
“If you’re going to get back to the mainland, you’ll probably have to sail,” Pete told Artie.
“
Sail?
All the way back to America? How long would
that
take?”
“Not as long as it took us to get down here, that’s for sure,” Pete said, adding that going back to the mainland was a downwind run with the help of the trade winds, while getting
to
the islands from Florida was a difficult, upwind bash.
“He’s right about that,” Larry said. “I’ve done it both ways many times. It’s an easy run from here to Fort Lauderdale. If you don’t stop along the way, you can get there in a week or so, depending on the boat.”
“And your daughter is in New Orleans,” Pete said. “At least that’s a port city and you
can
sail there. You’re lucky she’s not at Kansas State or something. It might take another week or two to get around the Keys and across the Gulf, depending on the weather, but it could be a lot worse if she were inland. My guess is that a lot of people will be walking if they got the same effects up there that we got here.”
Artie was overwhelmed. He had never considered the possibility of having to sail all the way to New Orleans in order to get back to Casey. Despite what Larry and Pete said, a
lot
could happen in a matter of two weeks or longer. How could he live that long not knowing if she was okay? What would she do in the meantime? If her car wouldn’t start, she probably couldn’t leave, but what dangers would she face in a blacked-out New Orleans? Artie couldn’t believe the circumstances that could put him so out of touch with the person he loved most on this Earth. He knew Larry couldn’t fully understand, even if he thought he did, because he had never had children. Casey was the light of Artie’s life. He had to do whatever it took to get to her and protect her, even if it meant another voyage much longer than the one he’d just endured in miserable seasickness.
“If it’s going to take that long, then we need to leave immediately,” Artie said to Larry, his entire attitude about ocean voyaging completely changed now that he accepted the reality that it was the only way home and the only way back to his daughter.
“It’s not quite that simple, Doc. For one thing, we can’t take off on
Ibis
and leave the owner hanging, even if he is still in Tampa and has no way to get here. First, I have to make sure he’s not already here.”
“If he’s not here, then it won’t do him any good. Couldn’t you drop the boat off in Tampa later, after we go to New Orleans?”
“It’s a few hundred miles back to Tampa from New Orleans. I’ve done that crossing before. But no, I don’t want to risk his boat like that considering the conditions, and my contract was to deliver her here. I’ve met my obligation as far as that goes, but if he is here, I need to find out. Besides, my boat is better suited to the voyage.”
“But it’s not even finished, you said. Aren’t you still building it?”
“She’s built and could be launched as she is. The main thing I have left to do is step the mast and set up all the running rigging. She’s not painted yet, but that doesn’t matter, I’ve got a solid coat of gray primer on everything and we can slap a coat of bottom paint on right before we splash her.”
“You’ve built your own boat?” Maryanne asked. “What kind of boat is it?”
“A catamaran—a Wharram Tiki 36, to be exact.”
“I’ve heard of Wharrams,” Pete said. “We saw an old dilapidated one in Key Largo. They sure are funky-looking boats. Aren’t they homemade out of plywood?”
“A lot of them are homebuilt, and yeah, its plywood, but it’s a composite construction with everything laminated with epoxy resin and fiberglassed over. Some of them are built rough by people who don’t know what they’re doing, but I’ve taken my time with mine. All the materials are to Lloyd’s specs and I’ve cut no corners. She’ll look like a million-dollar yacht when she’s all painted up and fitted out.”
“Can a boat like that make it all the way to New Orleans?” Artie asked.
“Of course she can! You well know how long I’ve been sailing, Doc. I’ve sailed just about every kind of boat you can think of in my deliveries. Would I spend my hard-earned cash and most of my spare time building something that wasn’t seaworthy?
Alegria
will be at least as capable as
Ibis
there. These cats have crossed every ocean in the world. There’s no boat I would trust more when it gets really nasty out there. The big difference, though, is that she can go where almost no other sailboat can. She only draws two feet.”
“Two feet! Wow!” Pete said. “That’s like a dinghy.”
“Yep, I’ll be able to put her right on the beach if I need to. That’s the other thing—she’s light. No lead keel, and construction from the finest okoume marine plywood brought her in at less than four thousand pounds, ready to cruise.” Larry turned to Artie: “You see,
Ibis
is relatively shallow too, and she would get us there in a fine style, but we don’t know what we might encounter in all this mess with everything shut down. My boat will have a lot of advantages if we need to go up a river or get to other places regular boats can’t reach. And—she’s much faster than a monohull. And—you’re gonna love this, Doc—the motion of a catamaran is a lot different and a lot easier. None of that deep rolling that had you puking your guts out on the way here. You’re gonna like multihull sailing a
lot
better.”
“Where is your boat?” Pete asked. “I’d like to take a look; she sure sounds interesting. Is she close to the harbor?”
“Unfortunately no,” Larry said. “I did the building under a tarp shed on the beach at Culebra. I’m sure you’re familiar with it; it’s one of the islands between here and Puerto Rico.”
“Oh yes, there’s a lovely anchorage there,” Maryanne said. “We stayed there a couple of nights on the way here.”
“I like it,” Larry said. “It’s much more laid-back than St. Thomas. I can actually leave tools lying around without having to worry about them walking off when I turn my back.”
“How far is it from here?” Artie wanted to know.
“Not far at all, really,” Pete said, “about 20 nautical miles west. You can see the island once you get out of this harbor and past Water Island.”
“Still, if Culebra’s an island, even 20 miles is a long way. If we have to leave
Ibis
here, how are we supposed to get there so we can even get started?” Artie asked, unable to conceal his anxiety about each new obstacle that seemed to come between him and Casey.
“I’m thinking,” Larry said. “But first, I need to go ashore and ask around to make sure my client is not here.”
After inviting them to come back that afternoon for drinks, Pete took Artie and Larry back over to
Ibis
so Larry could offload the schooner’s dinghy for the trip to shore. Pete promised to keep an eye on
Ibis
while they were gone, so Larry could relax a bit about leaving her. Artie had question after question for his brother about their proposed voyage to New Orleans, and Larry did his best to answer each one as they lowered the sleek wooden dinghy into the water and Larry got the ship’s paperwork and their passports in order. Normally, clearing back into St. Thomas as American citizens meant a brief visit to the U.S. Customs and Immigration offices at the western end of the harbor, but considering the circumstances, Larry wasn’t sure anyone would be there. Still, they had to try, and they had to go ashore anyway.
Larry did the rowing as Artie sat in the bow of the dinghy. Each time they passed another occupied vessel in the anchorage they were hit with the same barrage of questions about where they had come from, what they had seen, and what they might know of what was happening in the world beyond the harbor. When they reached the ferry dock near the government offices, Artie lost no time clambering up the ladder as Larry tied them off.
“Land!” Artie said. “At one point a couple of days ago, I swore I’d kiss it if I ever set foot on it again.”
“So go for it!” Larry said. “I’ve been waiting to see this.”
“What’s the point? At that time I thought I’d never have to get on a boat again if I ever got here. Now, this is just a temporary stop. I guess I shouldn’t get too excited about it or get too used to it.”
“Probably not, I don’t want to waste any time here; this place is gonna turn to shit in another day or two. It’s bad enough in normal times with all the cruise ship tourons and gangs of punk-assed dreads.”
As Larry suspected, they found the customs and immigration offices closed. Artie followed as Larry led the way back east along the waterfront to the Yacht Haven Marina and Hotel complex to see if the owner of
Ibis
had arrived before the pulse hit. If he had, he would be stranded among the thousands of other tourists stuck there in miserable conditions in hotels without lights or air conditioning. If not, it was certain that he wouldn’t be coming to the island until after power and communications were restored, and who knew how long that would be?
They found the hotel lobby full of frustrated guests unsure of what to do next, many of them killing time while they waited by drinking warm beer or the local Cruzan rum. The clerk behind the desk could not look for the name Larry gave him because all guest information from before the power outage was in their computer registry system. They went to the marina office and no one there remembered anyone asking about a yacht named
Ibis.
Larry said that most likely the owner was not on the island. There was nothing else to do but leave the yacht on the mooring as he had contracted to do, and hope that eventually her owner would be able to get to St. Thomas to claim her—if someone didn’t steal her first. But they had to get to Culebra, as there was a lot of work to do to get Larry’s boat and make it ready for the passage to New Orleans.
“I guess we’ll have to sail over there on
Ibis
and then sail both boats back here so we can leave her once we get
Alegria
shipshape,” Larry said, when Artie asked how they were going to get to Culebra.
“That’s going to take a lot of extra time, isn’t it—coming all the way back over here?”
“We’ll lose most of a day doing it, but it won’t make much difference in the end. What else can we do? Besides, my cat is a lot faster than
Ibis.
We’ll have the trade winds in our favor once we leave here for good, and we’ll make a fast passage to Florida. You’ll see.”
They left the exclusive Yacht Haven complex and Artie followed his brother to a seedier part of the waterfront, where they found his favorite bar still open for business, despite the lack of power. Larry was well acquainted with the owner from his many stops in the harbor taking yachts up and down the island chain.
“We’re open until we run out,” the man said. “At the rate people have been drinking since yesterday, that won’t be much longer. What are you two having?”
“Nothing,” Larry said. “It’s way too early for me. We’re getting out of here real soon, I hope. I just had to make a quick check and be sure my client wasn’t here.”
BOOK: The Pulse: A Novel of Surviving the Collapse of the Grid
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