When Larry came back on deck at 2200 hours to relieve him, he said that the glow of St. Thomas should be visible by now, but it wasn’t. The skies were clear and stars arced over the masthead in such density they looked like clouds of light, but at the level of the horizon the darkness was the same through a full 360 degrees.
“I was afraid of this,” Larry said.
“So, the power is out on the islands?”
“At least in this part of the Virgins. Who knows where else?”
“Can we find it in the dark?”
“Oh yeah, no problem there. We won’t be close enough to it to hit it before well after daylight even if we couldn’t see it. But with this much starlight tonight, we should see the outline of the mountains from several miles out.”
Artie went below and stretched out in his bunk, trying to get some sleep during his time off watch, but instead he spent most of the four hours tossing and turning, his mind racing with thoughts of the horrors of the plane crash and what it implied about what could have happened since he saw the lights. He thought about Larry saying that all jet airliners would be affected if their electronic controls went out, and he began to wonder how he would get back home. He had a ticket for a flight from St. Thomas to New Orleans by way of a connection in Atlanta, and he had been planning to leave the afternoon after their arrival at the anchorage. What if the power were still out then? What if the strange pulse had damaged the instruments of all the planes sitting at the airport? What if some of them had been in flight when it happened and had crashed? There was no way Artie could get any sleep with all this on his mind. He gave up and went back up on deck. It was two hours after midnight.
“There it is,” Larry said.
Artie looked over the bow and saw the dark silhouette of distant ridges and peaks rising out of the sea. “That’s St. Thomas?” he asked.
“Yes, and a couple of smaller islands that lie just outside of the harbor. Normally, the whole mountainside above Charlotte Amalie Harbor would be lit up like a Christmas tree. The lights were out on St. Croix, too. We passed within about 12 miles of it a couple of hours back while you were below, and there was nothing—no glow or anything. That tells me the power is definitely out in the whole island group. I still haven’t seen any air traffic either, and only a couple of vessel lights. I’ve never seen anything like this as long as I’ve been down here. Even after a hurricane hits, there are helicopters and all kinds of planes flying around.”
“That’s why I couldn’t sleep,” Artie said. “I’ve been wondering just how I’m supposed to get back to New Orleans if my flight got canceled.”
“No use worrying about that right now. We’ll find out more later this morning. I’ve reefed the main and staysail to slow us down some. We’ll take it nice and easy on the approach and should be just outside the harbor entrance when the sun comes up. No use taking a risk running too fast in these blackout conditions. I’m glad you came back on deck, because we both need to keep a good lookout until dawn. You never know, there may be big ships out here steaming with no lights—if they’re able to run at all.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Artie said. “Especially the one week-and-a-half period of my entire life that I decided to take a Caribbean vacation.”
“Hey, you’re on island time now. Not to worry, mon. Everyt’ing gonna be all right.”
“Yeah, I hope you’re right. But you live your whole life on island time. Some of us have to
work
for a living. I’ve got to be back at the V.A. Monday morning. I have patients to see.”
“I wish you could meet my friend Scully. You think
I
live on island time? Scully could teach us all something about not worrying.”
“Yeah, I heard all about Scully from the girls after their trip last summer. Casey got on a reggae kick I didn’t think would ever end. At least she and Jessica didn’t start smoking marijuana—as far as I know anyway—but she talked about Scully for weeks.”
“I suppose he was the first real Rasta that either of them had ever met. Scully’s a good guy, definitely one of my best friends in the islands. The Rastas smoke their ganja, all right, but it’s different with them. It’s not about getting high and partying. It’s more of a spiritual experience—part of their religion—a path to enlightenment or something like that.”
“Enlightenment? They seem like just another version of dope-smoking hippies to me. You don’t mess with that stuff, do you, Larry?”
“I’m more into good island rum, especially when I’m anchored in a nice spot for the evening. I’m not saying I wouldn’t take a hit off the pipe now and then, but Scully knows better than to bring it on board a boat when we’re doing a delivery, and certainly not to bring it on
my
boat. It’s not worth the risk of getting a boat confiscated, and I won’t tolerate it at sea.”
Artie figured drinking rum and taking a toke now and then sort of went with the territory for a yacht delivery skipper. Looking at his lean and tanned younger brother standing at the helm, his full beard and wavy hair bleached blond from the sun, Artie thought maybe Larry
had been
born two hundred years too late. He was an adventurer at heart, and this sailing life he’d chosen seemed to suit him well, and apparently agreed with him, as he looked much younger than his 38 years. Artie couldn’t imagine Larry in any other setting, as these islands had been his home since he had caught a ride on a boat out of Fort Lauderdale during his first Spring Break, and he never went back to college to finish out the semester.
“It’s too bad Scully won’t be in St. Thomas while you’re here,” Larry went on. “But then again, who knows how long you’ll be here? Maybe you shouldn’t have come to the islands in 2013, Doc. Didn’t you know the world was supposed to end sometime around the end of 2012 or, at the latest, by 2013?”
“Hah, hah; very funny, Larry. So the lights went out, and now it’s the end of the world?”
“It would be for most people up there,” Larry said, referring to mainland America, a place he rarely even visited. “What would they do without their DSL connections? What would they do without TV? Yeah, it would be the end of the world for sure.”
“I know it would be for Casey,” Artie laughed. “But seriously, if this were some kind of weird power surge or electromagnetic pulse from a solar flare, or whatever, and it really did knock out the power grid, it might take awhile to fix it, huh?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I know it takes a while after a hurricane comes through. Happens down here all the time, but they bring in crews from other places with all the stuff to repair the damage. Let’s just hope this is local to this part of the islands. Otherwise, it could be a real problem.”
“I just hope there’s a landline or something working when we get to St. Thomas, so I can call Casey. If it was something local to the islands, she may have heard about it today and may be more worried about me than I am about her—if that’s possible.”
Larry stayed at the helm for the rest of the approach to St. Thomas in the pre-dawn darkness. Under reefed sails,
Ibis
reached to the north at barely five knots, the fastest speed Larry dared to sail under these eerie blackout conditions where there could be more wreckage like the crashed plane anywhere along their course. They saw the 12-volt running lights of three other small sailing vessels as they neared the island, and as dawn broke with
Ibis
some seven miles south of the steep coast, they could see the silhouettes of an anchored U.S. Navy ship and half a dozen cruise ships lying outside the harbor. Larry said there were always navy vessels in the vicinity, as well as plenty of cruise ships waiting to dock to load and unload passengers, but he said he had never before seen an unlit cruise ship. He said that by sunrise there would also be a lot of fishing and dive boat traffic heading out of the harbor on a normal day, but today nothing was moving.
“It’s sort of like coming in here after a hurricane, but with the harbor full of boats and without all the buzz of activity that would already be going on from the cleanup,” Larry said as they sailed into the anchorage. Artie could see hundreds of moored yachts filling the natural harbor. There were sailing vessels of all descriptions and sizes, from traditional-looking schooners like
Ibis
to weird, spaceship-like catamarans and trimarans, as well as motor-yachts that looked like floating palaces. Larry expertly piloted the schooner through the maze of boats until he spotted the numbered float that marked the mooring that
Ibis
’s owner had rented in advance. Artie took the boat hook forward to the bow, and following Larry’s instructions, snagged the mooring line and slipped it over one of the bow cleats just as Larry eased all the sheets and then quickly sprang into action to release the halyards and drop the sails to the deck. The passage was over.
Ibis
was secured solidly to the heavy mooring at the bottom of the harbor, and Artie breathed a sigh of relief as she swung downwind and settled down for the first time since they’d sailed out of the harbor at Martinique. He looked at the surrounding green hills dotted with houses, hotels, restaurants, and shops that reflected the morning sun from their shiny windows and created an illusion that everything was normal and as it should be. He looked forward to stepping onto the solidity of that dry land and its promise of shelter, momentarily forgetting the incomprehensible events that had completely altered his reality during his first ocean voyage.
TWO
CASEY DRAGER PULLED the covers over her face and rolled over, annoyed that her dream was interrupted by bright sunlight filtering through the thin curtains hanging in her window. She couldn’t return to that place though, as much as she wanted to, and slowly she became conscious that it was only a dream. She threw the covers off and sat up with a start. The sun wasn’t supposed to be up! Jessica was supposed to call her at 6:00 a.m. so she would have time to study for an hour before she showered, ate breakfast, and headed for her eight o’clock class. The way the light was filling her bedroom, it had to be eight already. She grabbed her iPhone off the table by her bed to make sure she hadn’t silenced the ringer volume by mistake. She couldn’t believe Jessica would let her down, because she had to get up early today too. She was mad at herself more than she was at her roommate, though. She knew Jessica wasn’t coming in last night and she should have set the alarm on the phone as a backup.
The phone lit up, and the digital clock on the screen read 8:07 a.m. Oddly, there was a blinking message at the top corner of the screen that indicated the phone was not connected to the network. This had never happened since she got the new iPhone a year ago, and it certainly shouldn’t happen in a city the size of New Orleans. It brought back bad memories of the lousy service she had had with her first cell phone back in junior high. So that was the reason Jessica hadn’t reached her. She had probably tried but couldn’t get through.
Casey didn’t have time to beat herself up for not setting her own alarm, though. She rushed into the bathroom to hurriedly work on her hair and makeup. There would be no time to shower or eat today. She stepped out for a second to turn on the TV so she could hear it while she got ready. The screen lit, but all that it showed was a blue background and an error message. The sound coming from the speakers was white noise. She grabbed the remote and flipped through several channels. They were all the same.
Weird
, she thought to herself.
No cell service, no TV. WTF?
There was no more time to give it much thought now, though. It would be working again any time, of that she was certain. Right now, all that mattered was getting to class.
Casey supposed Jessica’s phone could be off the air too. She had an Android phone on a different network, so it seemed unlikely, but it was also unlikely that the cable TV would be out at the same time too. Jessica had spent the night with her boyfriend, and Casey wondered if they could have overslept too. She would find out when they met at lunch. She slipped the closed MacBook that was lying on her table into her small backpack that doubled as a book bag and purse, slung it over one shoulder, grabbed her key ring, and rushed out the door. Her bike was cable-locked to the wrought-iron balcony rail of the second-floor apartment that made up half of the small wood-frame house fronting Webster Street. She opened the combination lock, quickly carried the bike down to the sidewalk, and pedaled off. It was just a short three-quarter-mile ride to the Tulane University campus, and the bicycle was the only sane way to go with the parking situation being what it was.
As she turned onto St. Charles Avenue, Casey was surprised to see large numbers of cars stopped everywhere in both lanes of the broad, live-oak-shaded boulevard. There was no moving traffic besides other students on bicycles, and some drivers were opening their doors and getting out. She narrowly missed wiping out when a man in a large SUV opened his door right in front of her. Why all these vehicles had stopped in the street was beyond her, but it was not her concern either, late as she was. It was already vexing enough that her phone service was out. She steered onto the broad sidewalk away from the cars, weaving among pedestrians as fast as she dared until she reached the main campus entrance from St. Charles and hung a quick right into the breezeway to the bike racks in front of Dinwiddie Hall.
She locked the bike in an empty slot and made for the front doors, pushing her way through a cluster of students on the steps. Once inside, she was surprised at how dark it was, and she realized that all the overhead lights in the hallway were off. More people were milling about outside several open classroom doors.