Apocalypse Drift (38 page)

As the group of boats plied south through the bay, they passed the site of another historic disaster, this one manmade. To the southwest, Wyatt could discern cranes looming over the port of Texas City. In 1947, while the small town was enjoying the post-war economic boom, an explosion there killed over 500 people and injured thousands more. A German freighter loaded with fertilizer exploded with such force its anchor was recovered several miles away. The event caused two nearby ships, both full of the same ammonia nitrate, to catch fire and then detonate. This second set of atmospheric eruptions completely wiped out the first responders heading in to fight the flames. The people of Galveston, 14 miles away, were knocked to their knees by the blast wave.

That catastrophic event and the subsequent recovery resulted in the small communit
y referring to itself as “the town that refused to die.” Wyatt hoped the same resolve that had sustained the citizens of yesterday worked as well for the current populace.

The flotilla was approaching the Bolivar Roads, one of the busiest intersections of commercial marine traffic in the world. At this spot, the Houston Ship Channel, the
Intracoastal Waterway, and the Texas City Channel all met in what amounted to a Times Square-like interchange of water-borne tonnage. Normally, Wyatt and the rest of the skippers in the fleet would be on high alert in this area, but not today. Probably more than anything he had witnessed so far, the lack of super-tankers, football-field-sized container vessels, and oceangoing tugs made it clear how bad the situation was. The radar showed the roads were completely void of any traffic.

To anything other than a large commercial vessel heading southwest out of Houston, there was what amounted to a fork in the road ahead. Galveston Bay essentially ended leaving two choices – west along the Intracoastal Waterway or east to the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

The Intracoastal, or “The Ditch” as it is commonly called, is a manmade channel of water that winds its way from Brownsville, Texas all the way along the United States coastline, eventually reaching New Jersey. In the early 1900s, construction began on the system that eventually resulted in a maritime superhighway. A system of dredged channels connected the country’s natural bays, lakes, and rivers, providing one of the longest protected passageways in the world. The system was designed so commercial traffic could avoid the dangers of open ocean transport. It was possible to float from the Mexican border all the way to upper eastern seaboard without navigating into the open, often dangerous waters of the Atlantic Ocean or Gulf of Mexico.

Normally, the fleet of smaller boats from
Marinaville would have chosen The Ditch for its protection. It had been decided that avoiding the Intracoastal was the lesser of two evils, and the group would head offshore and into the Gulf for this leg of the journey. Wyatt recalled the intense discussion over this choice. Going offshore was a risk. The rambunctious waves of the gulf could make the transit rocky for hefty vessels, let alone the least seaworthy of their group.

On the other hand, several sections of the Intracoastal were lined with housing developments and communities along the banks. The boats would be easy prey for anyone wanting to cause a problem from shore. The Brazos River locks posed an insurmountable challenge and so determined the course of the flotilla. Without electrical power, the mechanism wouldn’t be operational, and there was no way of knowing if the locks would be open or closed.

One of the primary concerns with going offshore was the sailboats. These vessels weren’t built for speed. Their hull design was such that they could maneuver and maintain course at a slower pace. Powerboats posed an entirely different, but equally threatening challenge. Most of these smaller vessels were much, much faster, but couldn’t steer nearly as well at low speeds. Even in moderately rough water, these smaller boats needed to maintain twice the speed as their wind-powered cousins to keep their bows pointed in the right direction and ride the waves properly. Keeping everyone together might be a serious problem.

After the fleet crossed the
Bolivar Roads, they began the turn southeast, heading for the gulf. As Boxer rounded the bend, Wyatt was stunned at the scene that appeared off the bow. Boxer’s path was blocked by dozens and dozens of anchored ships. For as far as his eyes could see, a congestion of freighters, tankers, and cargo vessels crowded the Galveston entry channel, the line of ships stretching far out into the gulf.

The radio instantly came to life with an indecipherable gargle of hails.

Wyatt glared at the radio with a confused expression, not recognizing any of the voices. It took a few minutes, but finally the broadcast traffic settled down, and one voice came through. “Pleasure boats in Galveston Channel, this is the Estes Marie. I repeat, pleasure boats exiting Galveston Channel, this is the Estes Marie. We are anchored off of your starboard bow and are in desperate need of assistance. We have a medical emergency. We are out of food and cannot raise anyone on land. Please respond – over.”

No sooner than that message had made it through, the frequencies were again flooded with garbled traffic from several of the ships. Wyatt could isolate a few calls for assistance, another request of ferry service to the shore, and one offer to barter. All of the radio operators scrambled for airtime - talking over each other - and it was nearly impossible to untangle the mass of chatter.

Movement caught Wyatt’s eye as a slender and sleek speedboat suddenly roared out of Galveston, its course on an intercept for the Marinaville boats. Wyatt hit the intercom button next to the radio and commanded, “Morgan, I need David up here right away.”

A few moments later, David’s head appeared at the
top of the ladder. “What’s up, Dad?” His question was quickly punctuated by a distinct wolf whistle. “Wow…look at all those ships,” he remarked, admiringly, as he took in the surroundings.

Wyatt nodded toward the approaching speedboat, now close enough to determine four men toting rifles, riding in the craft.

“Oh, crap,” was David’s response, and he disappeared to fetch his own firearm. Wyatt slowed Boxer, hoping some of the other friendly boats would catch up. They would need reinforcements if there were going to be trouble.

The speedboat came alongside Boxer, staying out about 100 feet. One of the men held up a handmade sign that read, “RADIO – 4.”

Wyatt acknowledged the sign, flashing a curt nod toward the bobbing craft, and switched to channel four on the VHF. A gravelly voice spoke through the speaker. “Stay away from our ships, buddy…unless you want trouble.”

Without thinking, Wyatt keyed the
mic and responded, “Your ships? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“These ships out here belong to us. We’re handling all of the business with them. We
ain’t going to have anyone nosing in on our territory.”

Wyatt shook his head, still not quite comprehending what the guy meant. Two of the fleet’s boats were catching up now, each one brandishing a shooter.
This is turning into some sort of waterborne showdown at the O.K. corral.

After a moment, Wyatt responded. “We are just passing through, friend. We don’t want any trouble,” and then cursed himself for the B-grade Western movie response.

The answer seemed to cause a debate on the speedboat. Wyatt could see from the body language that there was disagreement among the crew. David’s voice sounded from the deck below. “Dad, I see two more boats full of armed men heading toward us. I think these guys have called for reinforcements.”

A few moments later, “Dad, we need to either get out of here, or let me sink these guys. We are going to be way outnumbered in less than a minute.”

Wyatt weighed the options while scrutinizing the four men. Their gestures were very animated, waving arms and pointing fingers. Wyatt didn’t believe they had spotted David just yet. The other robber-boats were coming closer; he had to do something.

Picking up the radio
mic, he switched to the fleet’s channel and announced, “Everyone go around Boxer and hurry…full speed…we’ll hold these guys off.”

Wyatt looked down into the cockpit. “David, go tell your mom and sister to lay flat on the floor.” He watched as his son’s eyes flashed large with realization. David nodded, immediately turning to the cabin door and delivering the message.

The Marinaville boats started passing by Boxer, going to full throttle as soon as they were clear. Wyatt turned the radio back to channel four and announced into the microphone, “Hey, you guys still on this channel?”

The response came quickly, “Yeah. What do you want?”

“What I want is for you to back off and send those other boats away. We only want to pass through. I’m getting tired of watching you guys argue.”

“We’re trying to decide if we want your boats, too. I wouldn’t be getting up in anybody’s face if I were you, bud.”

Wyatt held the radio down to his side and exhaled.
I don’t want this
, he thought.
I wish there was another way.

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt’s voice was so
calm; he didn’t recognize it as his own. “David, shoot out their engines.”

David fired the first shot a few seconds later. It was the signal Wyatt was waiting for. He pushed the throttles forward for full power while turning the steering wheel at the same time. David’s first round took the crew of the small boat by surprise. Before they could recover, Boxer was barreling down directly at them, gaining speed. Round after round flew at the small boat. Small geysers of water erupted into the air around the hull of the pirate’s vessel, soon followed by sparks flaring from the hood of its outboard motor. David was adjusting his aim, his bullets now hitting the mark.

Boxer covered the distance in a few moments, her massive bow bearing down at almost 12 knots. Men started jumping overboard, motivated by Boxer’s clear intent to ram their tiny craft. At the last second, Wyatt swung the wheel hard, barely missing a collision. That first boat wasn’t his main concern. He was more concerned over the two new vessels and holding them off until the rest of the fleet could get by.

David shifted his fire toward the next enemy craft, small splashes of water rising in front of the rapidly approaching threat. Wyatt saw small flashes of light blinking on the oncoming craft and instinctively ducked low behind the dash – they were shooting at Boxer. The cracking-thump of a round impacting a few feet from Wyatt confirmed the nightmare. The bullet punched a small hole in the fiberglass bulkhead of the bridge, missing critical helm components by mere inches.

Boxer was rolling at full speed now, her 45,000 pounds plowing through the sea and leaving a huge V-shaped trough of water in her wake.

As best as Wyatt could, he tried to ram the first boat
, but it was far too nimble and easily veered away. What it couldn’t escape was Boxer’s stern wake, a six-foot high wall of fast-moving water. The driver hit it at a bad angle, causing the attacking vessel to ramp high into the air. Wyatt watched as the airborne boat rose over the crest of Boxer’s stern-wave, gradually turning on its side. The boat-turned-aircraft slammed down into the water, the jarring impact throwing all aboard into disarray. The landing was so violent, the driver instinctively slowed his boat down, providing the window David needed.

The twin outboard
s began receiving lead as David’s barking rifle poured round after round into the motors. The outboard closest to Boxer caught fire, initiating even more scrambling by the already confused crew. Men were climbing all over each other in an effort to escape David’s withering hail of bullets and find the vessel’s fire extinguisher.

The skipper of the third boat saw what was happening to his predecessors and decided to turn around, engines wailing as it sped off, back toward Galveston.

Wyatt swung Boxer around in a wide arch and slowed the big yacht down. He yelled for David to check on the girls while he remained on vigil, watching as the Marinaville boats scuttled past. It would be a few minutes before the last of the armada was safely headed out to the gulf.

Father and son gazed from the bridge as the men from the burning attack boat began swimming, kicking hard for the nearby rock jetties. Finally, David broke the silence. “Dad, I
gotta hand it to you -
that
took a rather large pair of nads.”

Wyatt held up a trembling hand for his son to see. “Right now, I don’t feel so brave. I have no idea why I just did that. Seemed like the right thing to do – I guess.”

Morgan and Sage appeared from below, shaken, but okay. The crew of Boxer had just finished exchanging a round of hugs when the last of the fleet streamed past.