He pulled the gun from his back and chambered a shell, with a “watch your ass” feeling crawling all over his spine like sugar ants on an Eskimo Pie. The semidried blood squished and stuck to his shoes as he moved across the cockpit to the hatch doors. He kept his attention on the cabin and did his best to keep his breakfast where it belonged.
The first thing he saw when he opened the hatch was the woman. Her head was leaning back against the stairs that led down to the interior of the cabin, looking up at him—eyes filled with the shock of death. She’d been tied spread-eagle to the base of the stairs. Whoever killed her had used her first, and they’d taken their time on both counts. Travis stepped over the woman, into the dim room. It appeared that the boat had been badly buffeted by the wave, but it had also been thoroughly ransacked, and gutted of anything valuable. He moved slowly, cautiously, working his way forward. In the front berth, he found a man lying on a blood-covered bed, his hands tied behind his back. He had been shot several times in the head, leaving him largely unrecognizable. Travis stared, awestruck, at this brutal carnage. An anxious hail from above brought him around, and he quickly worked his way out of the ship. He found himself gulping drafts of fresh air as he reached the deck and the sun.
“What’s happened? What’s going on?” shouted Jan.
Travis glanced over at the sensei. The look on Travis’ face was enough. The Japanese turned to the rest of them, his voice no longer soft now, but commanding. “You will all stay here, no noise. Wait!” Without another word, he turned and leaped over to the other boat. There was something so absolute about him that everybody did exactly as he said—even Jan.
Travis showed his companion the grisly discovery. When they got back up on deck, the sensei turned to Travis. “Your feelings were well founded. Violence like this smacks of no concern for authority, or no concern with retaliation by authority.”
“Yeah,” Travis said. “It all adds up to ’watch your ass’ from now on. Let’s get back to the boat. There’s nothing we can do here.”
As he turned toward the rail, he noticed that the VHF antenna on the sinking boat was still intact and bolted to the deck. “Carlos,” he shouted, “get over here with a wrench and get this antenna.”
“Aye, aye
Jefe
,” Carlos called as he went below for his toolbox. In minutes, he had the antenna and cable off and reattached to the fittings on their boat. Carlos’ work on the other craft had been expedited by the sight of all the blood in the cockpit. He said nothing, but his hands were still shaking when he finished.
CHAPTER 7
As soon as the installation of the new antenna was completed, they were underway again. While they sailed, Carlos repaired the wiring to the VHF radio, then called them all below. Everyone gathered around as Travis turned on the radio and ran through the channels one by one. It appeared to be functioning correctly—there would be silence on some channels and static on others, but as they came to the end of the channel cycle, there was still no voice from the outside world. He ran through the cycle again, broadcasting himself periodically, with no better luck than the first time.
“Well, we may have to get closer to the mainland. This radio has line-of-sight limitations and is only good up to about fifty miles,” Travis said as he ran the dial one last time. He was about to give up when, faintly in the background, behind the static, he heard a voice.
“Hey! Wait!” urged Christina as she heard it, too. “There’s someone out there, someone talking!”
Travis adjusted the squelch, tuned in the channel as best he could, and turned up the volume. Behind the light static a man was speaking in a sonorous, rolling, southern baritone attributed to Bible-belt preachers. They began to listen, and the room grew quiet as they were drawn into the sermon, and delivered of the newest revelations.
“This here’s the Reverend Jimmy Johnson, bringing ya regional news, spiritual reflection, and ecological insight. I’m a broadcastin’ from the shrimp boat
Jesus’ Love
, settin’ here in the waters over not-so-beautiful downtown Miami, a-lookin’ at the crapped-out skyscraper skeletons all around me. Jesus is comin’, you miserable sinners, and He’s pissed. The sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children. Ain’t it the truth! Oil spills, ozone holes, and acid rains didn’t even slow ya down in your mad, mindless rush into the technicolored dawn of the new age, did it? Well, how do you like it now, you fluorocarbon flaunting assholes? Where are your petrol-guzzling, gas-belchin’ dinosaurs of transportation now? At the bottom of the friggin’ ocean, that’s where! How do you like them malathion-treated apples, you tight-tied, tight-assed, money grubbin’ sons of bitches? Huh? Huh?
“I been a-shrimpin’ from Florida to Louisiana and preachin’ everywhere I went. I been yellin’ at you the whole time. Didn’t I tell you that you was cuttin’ down trees faster than anyone coulda’ possibly growed ’em? Didn’t I tell you that you was poisonin’ the rivers and pollutin’ the seas? Jesus! You was makin’ handbags and hats out of God’s most glorious creatures, or worse, killin’ them for fun. Rhinos and gorillas slaughtered and ground up to make powder for your peckers. God! Of all the stupid shit I’ve ever heard! You was livin’ in cities where they had to have daily air reports—daily air reports—to tell you whether it was okay to go outside and breathe the friggin’ air! In Japan they was a-sellin’ oxygen on the street like they was vendin’ hot dogs! I told you what was gonna happen, but did you listen? Noooo, nobody listened to ol’ Reverend Jimmy. They said he’s just a doomsday crazy. Well, what do you think now, you baby-boomed IBMers? Pretty friggin’ tough treadin’ water with your computer, huh? Huh? Well, it’s intermission time. I gotta take a leak —drain the ol’ dragon. This commercial break is being brought to you by my dear friend Jack Daniels and his fine sippin’ whiskey.”
Throughout the environmental evangelist’s tirade, Travis and the group stood in tongue-fettered silence. The effect of the one-sided conversation was rather like somebody telling you a funny joke while robbing you. Travis thought,
this guy is three sheets to the wind, but if he has his facts right, the local world is flat-ass screwed.
The radio squelched and there was a loud burp over the air. “Well, I’m back. And now, for those within the sound of my voice, it’s time for a status report on the country . . . I call it the NBC report —notable bullshit and commentary. Anyway, I’ve been gettin’ messages from people up and down the New Coast, as we’re callin’ it. They’ve been receivin’ and relayin’ information darn near across what’s left of the U. S. of A. It ain’t a pretty picture, but I’m a-gonna tell you about it anyway. One, because I always wanted to be a newscaster, and two, because I just luuuuv being right!
“First off, it appears it weren’t no meteorite that caused this mess. That is to say, nobody’s reportin’ any major holes anywhere. It looks more like some massive shifting of the earth’s surface in places. Some areas seem to be in terrible shape or just plain gone, others fared a little better. No one got away without payin’ the piper. There ain’t no more Florida, except for a piece of high ground near the panhandle. Did I hear ya gasp? Well, that’s about as good as it gets.
“California’s damned near disappeared—lock, stock, and tomahawk. There was a country song about waterfront property in Arizona a few years back. I think it’s available now! How about a little good news-bad news? The good news is that there won’t be any more cost-of-living riots in New York. The bad news is there ain’t no more New York. There ain’t much of an Eastern Seaboard left, for that matter. From what they’re a-tellin’ me, it made a big, crumbling sound and dropped off into the ocean.
“Now here’s a little info that I’m not too happy about—there don’t seem to be much of a Louisiana anymore. Looks like the Mississippi Valley filled with water from somewhere and rushed through New Orleans like a case of clap through a whorehouse! I reckon with the way things look, I could putter this here little shrimper right up to the Great Lakes. ’Scuse me just a second folks, got to pour a little more refreshment. Ah, Dr. Jack. Good for all that ails ya; soothes the nerves, numbs the past, brightens the present, but unfortunately, don’t do squat for the future.”
The group listened in shocked silence to the world report given by the drunken shrimper/preacher.
“He can’t be right,” Jan whispered, a stricken look on his face. Christina, obviously shaken as well, reached over and put her hand on his shoulder, almost as if to console them both.
Travis looked across at the sensei, who maintained his impenetrable expression throughout.
He could be listening to the sports scores for all it shows
, thought Travis.
Carlos and Todd stood to the side. Carlos’ expression was one of angry acceptance. ”
Jesus Christe
, now I never get a
hamburguesa
.”
The others smiled. “You hang in there, Carlos,” Travis said. “I’ll find you that
hamburguesa
yet.”
The boy, who had been through so much already, accepted the news with a subdued indifference.
“I heard it, but I still can’t believe it,” muttered Jan.
“By God, my buddy Cody was right on the money,” Travis said. “I mean,
right on
. If I ever see him again, I owe him a bottle of Jose Quervo. That was the bet.” Then, with a sad shake of his head, he said, “But, I don’t suppose there’s much chance of him collecting on it.”
Travis reached for the radio. “I want to try to get this guy on the horn here, see if there’s any more he can tell us.” In moments, Travis located the preacher’s frequency and was broadcasting to him.
“Preacher, Preacher, this is
The Odyssey
” —it just happened to be the name of the boat; it hadn’t seemed important up to this point, but when he used the name for the first time, he considered the significance—"This is
The Odyssey
calling the Preacher. Come back, Preacher, come back.”
A few moments later, the preacher’s slurred voice boomed through the speakers. “Well howdy, you God-forsaken sinner. What can I do for you? Are you a-lookin’ for the way to Heaven or do you just need another can of aerosol hair spray—or could you be callin’ for our leather-bound, gold-embossed first edition of
The Animals That Used To Be
, the thrilling story of a boy and his bird, ’cept the bird is extinct, along with about a hundred other species you managed to extinctatize in less than a century. Yeah, I said extinctatize. May not be a word, but I like it, and I’m damned near writin’ the rules now. So what’s it gonna be, Sinner? God’s a-waitin’ and so am I.”
Travis decided to fight humor with humor. “I’ll take three cans of hair spray and a copy of the book. I’m sure it’s gonna be a bestseller. I’ll bet your publisher’s swamped.”
The preacher’s belly laugh echoed across the radio. “Well said, sinner, well said! God likes a man with humor.” The preacher paused while he took a noisy sip of whisky, then continued, “Tell me, Sinner, have you been saved?”
“Have I been saved?” Travis said to himself as much as anyone. “In the last week I’ve been saved from an airplane crash, I’ve been saved from drowning, and I’ve been saved from starving. I’d say, offhand, that I’ve been saved about as much as anyone I know.”
“No, no, no, Sinner. I mean, have you been saved by Jesus?” the preacher responded loftily.
“Well, I’ll tell you, Preacher, if it ain’t Jesus who’s been saving me, then the devil’s working overtime.”
“He’s doin’ that for sure, Sinner,” the preacher bellowed. “He’s doin’ that for sure."In a more serious voice, Travis spoke again.
“Preacher, we heard your report. Can you give us any further details? Clarify the situation somewhat?”
“How clear do you want it? The world’s gone to hell in a bread basket.”
“Yeah, I know,” Travis said, “but have you heard anything that relates to the authorities? The government? If we’ve lost the coastlines, what’s the condition of the central U.S. and the rest of the world?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’m hearin’. It ain’t much, but I believe it’s solid. I got a Ham and a sideband radio on this ol’ tub, so I figure, for information, that puts me on par with CNN—if there is a CNN anymore.
“The government, huh? Well, from what I’m a pickin’ up, there ain’t much cohesive government left in the U.S. of A. right now. Oh, there’s a few military bases that didn’t get hit too bad, from Langley in Virginia to Fort Benton in Montana. These folks seem to still be functioning but they’ve all got their share of problems, and martial law has been declared. The story is, about half the armed forces just up and left, trying to get to wherever they’re from to help save their own.
“Nobody seems to know if we have a federal government at all. Communications are down everywhere, so no one’s got the foggiest what anybody else is doin’, but then that’s just about par for the government anyway. The federal and the civil authorities are in a state of collapse. The civilian population is on its own. My guess is it’s gonna be years before we see any real semblance of order.”
“To top it off, it looks like we’ve had a couple of major nuclear accidents where earthquakes upset reactors. Meltdowns have occurred where California and upstate New York used to be. Most of the coast of Texas is gone, too, and they’re reporting a nuke melt outside Dallas.
“As for the central U.S., it seems to have survived the best. Oklahoma, Arkansas, Kansas, up Montana and Colorado way—those areas did a lot of shakin’, rattlin’, and rollin’, but they’re still intact. Big news is the inland sea in the center of the country now. And there’s a report that Oregon broke off from the coast and is now an island, but that’s third- and fourth-hand news at this point, so I don’t know for sure.
“The armchair estimators out there figure that somewhere near a hundred million people are dead. Lots more are gonna die from radiation, starvation, and each other. As far as what’s happened to the rest of the world, it’s pretty sketchy right now.” The preacher paused for a moment and took a noisy swallow of whisky, then continued. “I’ll tell ya, Sinner, I don’t think we’re gonna be givin’ a tinker’s damn about other countries for quite a piece to come. We’re gonna be pretty damned busy shuckin’ our own peas for a while.”