THE ARRIVAL OF IBIS in the harbor at Charlotte Amalie brought most of the occupants of the other vessels near her mooring to their decks to wave and shout questions to the newcomers. Most simply wanted to know from where the two men in the schooner had sailed, and what they had seen or heard of the bizarre flash in the northern sky that was the first sign of the series of events that took out communications, the power grid, and most forms of transportation. Artie was still reeling from days and nights of constant motion, and felt his body still compensating despite the calm of the harbor in which Ibis floated peacefully, tethered to her mooring without rolling, pitching, or bobbing. He fought to steady himself while Larry was busy securing the sails and sorting out lines. When asked how far to the southeast of St. Thomas they’d been when they saw the flash, Artie replied with the numbers of the last coordinates the GPS had displayed before it lost satellite reception. These were numbers he would never forget, as they marked the point where Larry began navigating by dead reckoning.
“We have no way of knowing how Martinique might have been affected,” Larry added after saying that those coordinates from when the event occurred put them over a hundred nautical miles from their departure point.
They were directing most of their answers to an older couple aboard a sleek, 50-odd-foot sailing yacht of modern design, with immaculate white topsides and polished metal fittings that indicated it was nearly new and well maintained. This boat, with the name Celebration displayed on her stern above the hailing port of Norfolk, VA, was the nearest vessel to Ibis, and the owners lost no time introducing themselves as Pete and Maryanne Buckley, inviting them to come aboard for a cup of coffee and more conversation.
“Our dinghy’s already in the water,” Pete said. “I’ll come pick you up.”
Pete rowed the rigid-bottomed inflatable alongside Ibis, explaining that the EFI-equipped 25-horsepower Honda outboard on the stern hadn’t started since the power surge.
“It’s not just the dinghy motor either,” Pete said. “We’re pretty much dead in the water. Celebration is just too dependent on high-tech equipment. But oh, wow! What a beauty you guys are on! She looks like you just sailed her in from an era before all this stuff was needed.”
“Yeah, Ibis is pretty sweet,” Larry said. “I wish she were mine, but as usual, I’m just doing a delivery.”
“We thought we were doing the right thing,” Pete said, “setting the boat up for our retirement with all those gadgets to do the work for us. You know, when you’re an old fart like me, cranking a sheet winch by hand ain’t the fun it looks to be. Now all this technology has come back to bite us on the ass, now that it won’t work anymore. Maryanne’s not taking it too well, but I told her, at least we’re safe out here on the boat, even if we just stay here in the harbor.”
“So nothing is working on the island?” Larry asked.
“As far as we can tell, no. We went to town several times yesterday, talked to a lot of people, tried to find out what we could. There’s no contact with the outside world at all. And no way to get off the island, unless you’re among the lucky few like us out here who have our own boats.”
“What about the airport?” Artie was almost afraid to ask.
“Burned all day and into the night yesterday. People on that end of the island say that right after the power went out, a Delta flight coming in from Fort Lauderdale crashed right into the terminal. Nothing has flown over here since.”
Artie’s hopeful expression upon asking the question faded to a blank look of solemn acceptance. “I was afraid of that,” he said.
Larry told Pete about the wreckage they had discovered late yesterday.
“This isn’t gonna fix itself,” Pete said. “Hell, even most cars are shut down because of their electronic ignitions, just like my Honda outboard. People around here are saying that if that surge was strong enough to knock out practically everything with any kind of electrical or electronic circuit, then there won’t be any way to fix the damage for a long time.”
“I guess it depends on how far-reaching the damage actually was,” Larry said, as he and Artie climbed into the dinghy for the short row back over to Celebration.
“That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Pete agreed.
Pete secured the dinghy to the stern platform of the gleaming yacht and they all climbed into the cockpit, greeted by Maryanne, who had brought out a tray with four cups of coffee and a loaf of fresh-baked local bread along with a knife and butter dish.
“We bought as much bread and fresh fruits and vegetables as we could find in the market yesterday,” she said. “The lines were already getting long and they were selling out fast.”
“This is wonderful!” Artie said as he took a seat in the plush cockpit and reached for his coffee. I’ve barely eaten for the past three days.”
“Offshore sailing didn’t agree too well with my brother,” Larry said. “But the light show he saw the other night cured him.”
“So you saw it yourself?” Pete asked Artie.
“Oh yeah. I was on watch when it happened. Couldn’t have missed it if I tried. The whole sky just lit up like daylight, except that there were all these different colors.”
“We slept right through it, regrettably,” Maryanne said.
“Yeah, that’s another thing about a boat like Celebration ,” Pete said. “Our stateroom is so well insulated down there that half the time you couldn’t tell if there was a hurricane blowing topsides.”
“So this is a Tayana 54?” Larry asked. “First one I’ve been aboard, but I delivered a Tayana 42 Cutter from Annapolis to Antigua once. Solid boat.”
“She’s comfortable, for sure,” Pete said. “Probably more boat than two people need for a retirement home, but you know, everybody is cruising bigger boats these days. You don’t see many people out cruising the world on anything under 45 feet anymore.”
“I do,” Larry said, “but not in the popular anchorages. You probably can’t get into many of the out-of-the-way places. What does she draw, anyway?”
“Seven feet, two inches,” Pete said.
Larry whistled. Artie was just listening, not knowing enough about boats to really have an opinion. “I guess you didn’t see much of the Bahamas then. Not many anchorages there that carry seven feet of water.”
“No, but our goal was to get down here to the Virgins first,” Pete said. “Then we were talking about trying to do a passage over to the Med if everything worked out. Out there in the Atlantic, draft doesn’t matter, does it?”
“That sure is a pretty little schooner you guys are sailing,” Maryanne said, “It’s amazing how well-maintained it is. How old is it?”
“Less than a year,” Larry said. “She looks like an old-time classic, but she’s really a new custom build, a Reuel Parker design. She only draws four feet. It’s all cold-molded wood-epoxy construction. The owner was supposed to meet me here tomorrow, but I guess that isn’t going to happen. He lives in Tampa, so unless he changed his plans and flew in early, it’s doubtful he’ll be picking up his boat.”
“Tampa? Was he planning to sail her all the way home from here?” Pete asked.
“No, he’s apparently got another boat he keeps there. He had this one built to keep here for cruising around the islands. She was built in Trinidad. I picked her up there and did a shakedown cruise through the Grenadines before my landlubber big brother here came down to meet me in Martinique.”
“It wasn’t so bad, after I got my sea legs,” Artie said, the memory of the awful seasickness already fading to the back of his mind.
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.”
“Brought another boat in, huh?”
“Yeah, a pretty sweet little wooden schooner—new custom build and all that. Too bad the owner probably won’t get to see her any time soon.”
“If he wasn’t on the island before five minutes after ten yesterday, he won’t. Man, this is one bizarre scene. Nobody knows the extent of it. There’s just no way to get any news. We don’t know if anybody’s coming to help us get things back up and running or not.”
“We intend to find out, one way or the other,” Larry said. “We’re gonna sail to the mainland and try to get some answers. I hope you’re not staying around here yourself.”
“Liz and I have already talked about it. Our boat is pretty well stocked up all the time. We won’t stay in Charlotte Amalie more than another day or two. There’s already been some looting and a couple of house fires. It won’t be long before the gangs are running the streets with machetes, taking whatever they want. We’ve seen it before. We’re thinking of sailing over to the BVI and maybe hanging out at one of the out islands, maybe Peter Island.”
“Probably a good idea,” Larry said. “Good luck to you, man. We’ve gotta scoot. We’ve got a lot of work to do on my boat before we can leave.”
Outside the yacht club, Artie and Larry stood for a minute taking in the scene on the city streets leading up the slopes from the harbor. Throngs of pedestrians, locals and stranded tourists alike, were moving among the stalled cars that filled the roadways. Everything was in a state of chaos as people walked around looking for friends and family they couldn’t call on the phone, or for water or food they could no longer drive to get. The enormity of the disruption overwhelmed Artie as the reality before his eyes sunk in. It still didn’t seem possible that all the advanced communications and much of the machinery of modern civilization could just be turned off like flipping a switch. He watched for a few moments, and felt truly sorry for the thousands of vacationers who were caught on the island in this mess and had no idea how they would get home. At that moment, he began to realize that despite the fact that he too was a stranded tourist, he was lucky to have a brother like Larry and the prospect of a sure, even if somewhat slow, ride home.
It was shortly after noon when they left the ferry dock at St. Thomas and rowed back out to Ibis. Pete was in the cockpit of Celebration and saw them coming. He waved them over to talk for a few minutes. They sat bobbing in the dinghy while he held the bow painter to keep them from drifting away. Pete had the best news that Artie had heard since they made their decision to sail Larry’s boat back to the States. He said that while they were ashore, he and Maryanne had talked it over and decided that they didn’t really feel good about staying in Charlotte Amalie. They decided that Culebra would be a better place to hunker down for the time being, as the population was much smaller there, and they had liked it when they stopped there before. Since they were going back anyway, Pete wanted to offer Artie and Larry a ride with them on Celebration. That way, Larry could leave Ibis on her mooring as he was obliged to, and they could get going on Larry’s boat as soon as possible. Besides, Pete said he and Maryanne would have a hard time moving the big Tayana alone without the aid of her electric windlass, depth sounder, GPS, and all the other amenities they were so dependent upon to handle her.
Artie was delighted with this, as it meant they wouldn’t have to backtrack to St. Thomas later. Larry agreed that Pete and Maryanne would be safer in Culebra, and said he would introduce them to some of his friends there. It was already too late in the day to get underway, get there, and settle into the anchorage before dark, though, so Larry said they would have to wait until morning to sail. It wouldn’t be safe to enter Culebra’s reef-guarded harbor at night with all aids to navigation unlit—especially with Celebration’s seven-foot draft. But they could get their personal belongings and the remaining supplies off Ibis and move aboard the bigger yacht that afternoon.
“We’ll have dinner around five thirty,” Maryanne said. “It will be steaks on the grill tonight, if that’s all right with you guys. We’ve got to use up what’s in the freezer. It won’t stay cold much longer in this heat.”
Artie helped Larry finish the job of sorting out Ibis and stowing all her gear in preparation for leaving her. They carefully furled the mainsail and foresail, secured them to their booms with sail ties made of nylon webbing, and then buttoned on the canvas covers to shield the sails from the sun’s damaging UV light. They removed the big genoa from the forestay and bagged it to be stored below, and furled the smaller staysail, secured it in its fitted cover, and hoisted it just clear of the deck by its halyard. They folded up the cockpit Bimini and lashed it to the grab rails on the coach roof. They put all loose gear away in the cockpit lockers, and then Artie scooped up seawater in a canvas bucket attached to a line to rinse the decks as Larry scrubbed them with a long-handled brush. When they were done, Ibis was as neat and clean as any yacht Larry had ever left with her owner, even though he knew that she would likely remain unattended and unused for a long time to come.
They packed their clothes in their bags down below, and Larry cleaned out the ice boxes and lockers, bagging up all of the remaining food on board. He figured it was more than enough for the two of them to make the passage to the mainland if they took it all.
“There should be enough stuff for a couple of weeks already on board Alegria; I hope Scully thought to pick up what he could when the lights went out.”
“So he’ll be there when we get to your boat?”
“Oh yeah. He’s living aboard while he’s working for me, at least some of the time. Scully doesn’t hurt himself working too hard. He wouldn’t do it at all if he didn’t like me and want to see that boat completed.”
“So what will he do when we launch it and leave for New Orleans?” Artie asked.
“Go with us, of course,” Larry said as if that should have been obvious to Artie.
“Is there enough room for all three of us?”
“Of course, and we need Scully. He’s a good sailor and navigator, and even better, a great fisherman. Everything about the trip will be easier with him along.”
“How do you know he’ll want to go?”
“Because he doesn’t have anything else to do. You already know he’s a Rastafarian. His favorite thing in the world is simply observing what’s going on, watching other people, and prophesying doom to the modern world and our way of life. He’s been expecting something like this very event for years. There’s probably nothing he’d rather do about now than sail to Babylon itself and see what has happened.”
“You mean he’ll be happy about all this? I don’t know if I’m going to get along with this guy or not.”
“Not happy—just indifferent. It’s like what I told you about living on ‘island time.’ Scully doesn’t need any of our modern technology. His life would be about the same with or without it. But you’ll like him okay, and we do need him and his skills at a time like this.”
When they were done packing, Artie handed down the bags of food and gear to Larry in the dinghy, and Larry made a couple of trips to shuttle it all over to Celebration. Once everything was transferred, Artie helped him haul the dinghy aboard the schooner and lash it upside down in its fitted chocks between the masts; then Pete came to pick them up in his inflatable.
They had dinner and rum drinks in the cockpit. Inevitably, the conversation centered around the profound changes that had taken place within not much longer than the past day. But Artie and Larry were both tired from their inconsistent sleep on the passage from Martinique, and asked to be excused early so they could catch up before the short sail to Culebra the coming morning.
Celebration was only the second sailboat Artie had ever been aboard, and he soon found out why Larry preferred smaller vessels for his own use when they prepared to leave the harbor the next morning. With the complex electrical control systems throughout the vessel rendered useless by the pulse, there was no way to start the inboard diesel engine. It was not set up for manual cranking the way some smaller marine engines are. They would have to sail out of the crowded anchorage, maneuvering among dozens of other vessels while taking care not to run across their anchor rodes with the seven-foot-deep keel. Just getting underway was a task Artie was unprepared for. With Pete taking the helm and Larry having to manually hoist and trim the huge sails that would normally be controlled by electric winches, he had the grunt job of hauling in the heavy, all-chain anchor rode. That, too, would have normally been done with a push of a button to start an electric windlass, but today Artie had to manually crank the windlass with the emergency backup handle, hoisting over a hundred feet of three-eighths-inch chain inch by inch, heavy labor that had him soaked with sweat in the tropical humidity.
Larry expertly trimmed the main with a manual winch as Pete steered off the wind just at the moment the anchor broke free. Artie continued to crank at the windlass as he pulled in the remaining few feet of chain and then struggled to control the big plow-shaped anchor as it spun in the air and swung back and forth, threatening to slam against Celebration’s pristine bow. He somehow wrestled it aboard without smashing his fingers and pinned it in its chocks as Larry had instructed him before they started. He felt the boat suddenly heel to starboard as the mainsail filled, and then Pete brought her about on another tack to pick a clear line between all the boats in their path. Most everyone in the anchorage was awake and on deck to wave and call out to them as they sailed past. Word of their plans had spread fast, and the other boat owners wished them luck and offered last-minute tidbits of advice. Artie stood on the pulpit watching the bow cut through the clear aquamarine water, wondering if he would soon be in the miserable throes of seasickness once they reached the open water. But at least today’s trip was a short passage and would be over in a few hours. He hoped what Larry had said about the motion of catamarans was true. He had been so sick on the previous voyage, and he tried not to imagine being that sick for two weeks on their way to New Orleans. But above all, as he watched the buildings and green hills of St. Thomas slide by, he was grateful to at last be in motion and going in the right direction—the only direction that mattered to him—west to Culebra and one step closer to New Orleans and Casey.
Larry joined Artie at the bow, where he could see better into the shades of green and blue water to pick out the deepest channel and give hand signals to Pete at the helm to tell him which way to steer. He had been in and out of this harbor countless times, but was taking no chances, considering the circumstances and the vessel’s deep draft. He relaxed a bit once they passed Water Island, a smaller outlying cay that guarded the main entrance. Once it was abeam to port, Culebra was visible on the horizon ahead, hazy blue with distance, and obviously hilly, though not as large or steep as St. Thomas. Larry said it was made up of mainly brush and rock, more desert than anything else, but it was renowned for its pink sand beaches and clear waters. It was also much less accessible than St. Thomas, lacking an airport for commercial jets and reachable only by ferry or small plane in normal times. But there was a good harbor, safe from all but the strongest hurricanes, and big enough to accommodate many cruising boats.
“So it’s technically part of Puerto Rico?” Artie asked his brother.
“Yes, and so is Vieques,” he said, pointing to another outlying island farther south. “See that big mountain way past them in the distance? That’s El Yunque, the highest peak on the main island of Puerto Rico. There’s a rain forest preserve up there that’s pretty awesome. I like Puerto Rico. It’s about my favorite place in the Caribbean. The people are great—especially the women,” he grinned. “There’s more happening on the main island, but Culebra’s quieter and better suited for building a boat.”
“You’ve been at this project for a while, haven’t you?”
“A little over three years now; I keep getting pulled away on these delivery jobs, so working on my own boat is kind of hit or miss. I put in a month here, two weeks there, that sort of thing. But hey, it’s all good—I’m on island time the whole time—and the best thing about it is I pay for the boat as I build it. I’ll own her free and clear, unlike our friends here on this monstrosity.”
“What does a boat like this cost?” Artie asked.
“This one? I don’t know, roughly around six, seven hundred grand, I reckon. Maybe more, the way they’ve got her set up. Way outta my league, I’ll tell you that, but chump change for a doctor like you.”
“Yeah, right. She does seem to sail well, though.”
“Oh yeah, and I’m sure she’s fast too, in the right conditions, with her long waterline. Out in the blue water she would be quite comfortable compared to Ibis.”
The route to open water took them right past the airport, where they could see smoke still rising from the rubble of the terminal, and a few undamaged jetliners that had been far enough away on the runway to avoid the explosions and fires. There was no sign of activity there, as the airport now had little to offer to anyone on the island. A few miles beyond the waterfront runway, the westernmost point of St. Thomas slipped by to starboard and soon they were off soundings with nothing in the way and 20 knots of favorable trade winds to bear them swiftly to Culebra. With no need to keep a lookout off the bow for now, Artie and Larry made their way back to the cockpit to join Pete and Maryanne for snacks and conversation as they all took turns steering the yacht by hand. Artie was glad to be moving, but he also couldn’t help thinking that in the few hours that would elapse from they time they left the mooring until they were anchored at this first waypoint on their voyage, he could have flown all the way to New Orleans and driven his car to Casey’s apartment—if only there were an airplane that could fly, or a car that would start….
But despite his impatience, the crossing to the other island went surprisingly quickly, and Artie soon found himself back at the bow with Larry to help spot the channel as they rounded a barren rocky point and entered a narrow opening on the south side of the island that led into a large and well-protected harbor. Boats were anchored on both sides of the channel and off the beach that fronted the small town surrounding the basin. Artie guessed there were at least fifty large cruisers and some smaller day boats, most of them sailing vessels. As soon as they were safely inside the anchorage and past the reefs, Larry took over the helm and guided Celebration to a spot deep enough to accommodate her draft and give enough swinging room at anchor, whatever the wind direction. He said he was anxious to check on Scully and his boat and Pete said they could borrow the inflatable dinghy, as he and Maryanne were in no hurry to go to shore and could wait until the next day.
Larry rowed, pointing the blunt bow of the clumsy inflatable at an opening in the mangroves on a stretch of the shore away from the main cluster of houses and stores. As they neared a narrow beach, Artie could see a large white tarp stretched over a framework of two-by-fours and posts. Protruding from under the makeshift workshop roof were the upswept bows of two slender hulls that brought to mind giant canoes, more than any other kind of boat. They pulled the dinghy up on the sand and Larry secured it with an anchor.
“There she is,” he said. “Alegria: our ticket to New Orleans.”
Artie walked across the sand to get a closer look before saying anything. The two V-shaped catamaran hulls were supported by heavy wooden cradles blocked up over the sand by various bits and blocks of timber. Workbenches and sawhorses surrounding the hulls were cluttered with other miscellaneous assemblies and fabrications that were obviously part of the boat, and tools, assorted hardware, jugs of epoxy, and cans of paint were scattered in haphazard piles on every available work surface. A stepladder stood next to one of the hulls, giving access to the deck, which was at least eight feet from the ground. Artie’s anticipation of getting underway to New Orleans turned to dismay, which was written all over his face when he looked back at Larry.
“This isn’t a boat, it’s a construction project! It’ll take forever to put all this together and get it in the water.”
“It’s closer than you think, Doc. Look, I know you can’t visualize how it’s going to be—most people can’t when they see it this way. But when these 36-foot hulls are spread apart to assembly width, the overall beam will be 20 feet—that’s a big platform with an easy motion at sea. All the beam and deck components are built. We just have to install some hardware here and there, step the mast, do some bits of rigging, and we’ll be ready to launch. Cosmetics be damned, I’ll paint her later after all this shit is over with. She’s one hell of a boat. You’re gonna see once she’s in the water.”
“It all just looks so overwhelming to me. I mean, how are we supposed to even move these huge hulls apart to put them together? How do we get it in the water without a crane or something?”
“It’s all downhill to the water, Doc,” Larry said, pointing out the barely perceptible slope from the boat shed to the high-tide line. “Trust me, I know how to get it done.”
“So where’s this friend of yours, Scully, who’s supposed to be working on it?”
“Right there,” Larry said, pointing to the harbor.
Artie saw a lone figure paddling a long sea kayak with bright yellow decks and two separate cockpits, the front one empty. The paddler was coming from the direction of the main town, across the harbor. As he ran the bow of the kayak up on the beach and stepped out, Artie could see that he looked just the way his daughter had described him. He was shirtless and barefoot, clad in nothing but a pair of ragged cutoffs that had once been camouflage military fatigues. There couldn’t have been a spare ounce of fat on him. As he pulled the boat up above the tide line, wiry muscles rippled under his skin like knotted cords. That skin was a shade of ebony rarely seen today with so many generations of mixed blood lending lighter tones to the color of most people of his race. Scully looked like he could be purely African from some untouched equatorial tribal lineage, but what stood out even more than his striking dark color and outstanding physique was his wild hair. As he walked up to them, dreadlocks that hung nearly to his waist swung like tangled lengths of rope across his shoulders and behind his back.
“Scully! What the hell have you been doing, mon? Why don’t you have my boat in the water yet?” Larry grinned as he stepped forward to greet his best friend.
“A mon got to have a break sometime. I an’ I goin’ to de town to find out de news and den I look bok dis way an’ see dis rubber dinghy on de beach. T’ink some pirate be comin’ to steal de boat, so I comin’ bok fast to put a stop!”
“I am a pirate, don’t you know, Scully. Hey, this is my brother, Artie. He’s Casey’s father. You remember Casey, don’t you?”
“How can a mon forget de most beautiful girl ever comin’ down de island? Pleased to meet you, mon. An’ your daughter, she wid you?”
“No, I wish she were.”
“Casey’s in New Orleans at the college,” Larry said. “Artie’s not supposed to be here in Culebra with me. He came down to help me deliver a boat to St. Thomas. You remember that new little schooner I was telling you about when I left here to take that Beneteau to Trinidad? Well, we were halfway through the passage when the lights went out. What about you, did you see anything when it happened?”
“You know a mon not supposed to be up all de night’cept when he navigating on de boat. No, I an’ I sleepin’ when dem seh dey seen de flashin’ lights. Only in de mornin’ when I put on de radio an’ de music don’t play, I t’ink somet’ing hoppen. But I got work to do on de boat an’ not to worry, until later in de mornin’ when I try de drill press…an’ she don’t turn. Den I check de cable…and den try de saw. No juice to de shop an’ no light shinin’, so den I paddle to de town an’ find same t’ing everywhere in de island. No mon he can seh what is de reason, but some of dem talkin’ of de lights in de night sky. An’ some of dem say dat mehbe it’s de sun gonna burn up, or mehbe it’s some nuclear missiles fired up by de evil dictators in Bobbylon. But I seh Jah, he strike de Earth wid his mighty hand, ’cause he is displeased wid all dis desecration of his creation.”
Artie could barely understand what Scully was saying. He was obviously speaking English, but in some strange West Indian dialect that was so foreign it almost sounded like another language. Larry obviously understood him perfectly, though, despite how fast he was talking.
“You’ve been saying that for years, Scully,” Larry said. “But whatever it was, as far as we know it’s widespread. In St. Thomas, everything’s out. Have you heard any news from anywhere else beyond here?”
“Some mon comin’ on de sailboat from Fajardo yesterday. He seh all de lights dem dark on Puerto Rico. Lights dem don’t work. Cars dem won’t go. Bus too, an’ de planes dem can’t fly. He seh he comin’ to Culebra because he afraid to stay on Puerto Rico. T’ree million people an’ dem got not’ing to eat on dat island.”
“Yeah, Puerto Rico would not be the place to be about now, just like I told Artie about St. Thomas. I guess a lot of people from over on the main island will be coming here and to Vieques too when it gets bad, but only those who have sailboats or some kind of old, really basic engines will have a way to get here.”
“So wot you gonna do, Copt’n? You t’inkin’ to put dis boat in de watah?”
“We’ve got to, Scully. Sailing is the only way to go. Artie has no way to get home, and he can’t stay here, because Casey is in New Orleans. We’ve got to sail there and try to find her. We need your help, Scully. We’re sailing to the States.”
“New Orlean? Dat’s in Bobbylon, mon! America de very place dat displease Jah so much he shut off de lights all over de world. A mon not supposed to be sailin’ to dat place in de end time like dis.”
“Maybe not, but we can’t leave Casey there. What else have you got to do, Scully? You always said Jah was going to destroy Babylon anyway. Maybe now you can see it for yourself. We don’t plan on hanging around after we find Casey. I figure things are going to get real bad up there if the power stays off long enough, too many people who won’t know what in the hell to do. It’s bound to get ugly. But if we get going fast, we hope we can find Casey quickly and get the hell back south to St. Somewhere, where there’s not so damned many people.”
Scully looked out over the harbor and then back to the disassembled catamaran in the shed. He pushed his long dreads back over his shoulder and reached out to shake both Artie and Larry’s hands. “Okay. I t’ink it’s crazy but if you goin’, I goin’ too. Can’t leave a girl like Casey in dat evil place. We need get her on de boat and wid she friend too. Nice girls dem, and need to bring dem bok to de island. But dis boat she can’t sail like dis.”
“Absolutely, Scully. So let’s get to work so we can go!”