Cami stood and reached out her hands. Amber and Mitch moved closer in stiff gaits, like zombies, and each took one of her hands. She squeezed hard. “Guys, this is not the end of the world.”
“But you said—” Mitch began. “It’s…look at it!”
“The only important things right now are standing in front of me.” When they both looked at her with tired, scared eyes, Cami found a courage building in her she’d never known. “Listen to me. We are going to get through this. We’re going to be just fine. We. Will. Survive.”
Mitch’s gaze drifted over her shoulder to the TV. “But—”
“But nothing!” Cami snapped. “If you’re convinced that everything I say comes true, then listen hard. Your father is going to make it here, Mitchell Adams. And your father,” she said pointedly at Amber, “is going to make it home, too. We are going to be just fine—”
“…Governor of South Carolina has declared a state of emergency and activated the national guard. With communications networks essentially non-existent at the moment, citizens are urged to shelter in place, whether that’s home, or a friend’s house, or at a work, or wherever you can find that’s safe and out of the elements. I’m afraid we’re all going to be on our own for a while. Those of you in our viewing area who still have power, count yourself lucky. Don’t wait, take care of yourselves, your neighbors, and your loved ones. Share what you have and help each other until help arrives. We may have to—”
The signal went to static.
Cami let go of Amber and Mitch’s hands, picked up the remote, and shut the TV off. She quietly unplugged the device and dropped the extension cord from the battery bank to the floor. “That does it for TV for a while.”
“We can’t just sit out here in the dark,” Mitch said.
“I can hook up dad’s emergency radio,” Amber offered, wiping her face. “It’s got shortwave and all kinds of cool stuff on it.”
“Good thinking, sweetie,” Cami said. She took a deep, centering breath and exhaled slowly. The fear and anxiety were gone, replaced by a rock-hard determination to protect her family and defend her homestead until Reese could get home. “Guys, you saw what was on the news. The whole country is pretty messed up right now, and we’re just outside of Ground Zero.”
“It’s time to cowboy up,” Mitch said, stone-faced.
“You got that right,” Cami replied. “Now, Amber, why don’t you go get that radio and set it up. Mitch,” she said, turning to the young man, “go with Amber, and when you two have the radio set up, we need to start harvesting the garden. I don’t like the way those clouds are forming on the horizon.”
“What are you gonna do?” asked Amber.
“I’m opening your father’s gun safe.”
“You think it’s that bad?” asked Mitch. “Already?”
Cami pursed her lips, considering. “No,” she said after a moment, “not yet. But between Marty Price’s warning this morning, and now this,” she said, gesturing at the TV, “I’m willing to continue hoping we don’t need them…but if we do…” she looked at Amber and Mitch. “I intend to be ready.”
Chapter 15
Coastal Maine
Owing to the unstable movement of the Excelsior in its death spiral, it took Jo and Reese the better part of an hour to secure the zodiac, empty the water from inside, confirm it was seaworthy and had enough fuel. Eventually, Reese was ready to cast off and move away from the slowly sinking yacht.
"Can't believe we’re going to do this again," Ben muttered, sitting in the middle of the still-wet zodiac.
"Second time's the charm, right?" asked Reese, smiling from his position at the tiller.
“I don’t think that’s how that sayin’ goes,” murmured Jo.
Ben leaned over and rubbed his injured leg. "Let's get this over with, then.”
Reese started the outboard. It rumbled to life in a cloud of blue smoke and a throaty roar.
“We got us a live one!” hollered Jo, slapping her thigh.
"I think we have enough gas to get us ashore, so we’re going to skip the sightseeing—that all right with everybody?" asked Reese.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" demanded Jo, looking for all the world like a seasick, wet rat. "Let's kick the tires and light the fires. I’d like to stand on dry land before I throw up all over myself again.”
Ben untied the line holding the zodiac against the Excelsior's hull, and Reese pushed the tiller over, hit the throttle, and pulled them away from the dying yacht. "Oh yeah,” he crowed, feeling the power vibrate through the tiller, “she's got some legs!"
The little wooden dinghy had gotten them halfway across the new gulf and sacrificed itself in the process. The zodiac, a much larger boat with a more powerful engine, had no problem cutting through the flotsam. Reese aimed straight for shore, opened up the throttle, and held on for dear life as the zodiac tried to climb up out of the water. They sliced through waves and flotsam all the same, its reinforced hull powering through all the trash and debris streaming offshore.
In less time than it took to get halfway, they’d plowed their way through the debris field and approached the coast of Maine. Or what was left of it.
Water streamed off the high ground, falling in sheets of waterfalls, all up and down the coast. The relatively low approach near Trenton, where the bridge to Mount Desert Island had been anchored, lay mostly buried under uprooted trees and lumber from devastated buildings.
As they grew closer, Reese discovered a wall of twisted, broken debris blocked easy access to dry land. He stood in the rear of the zodiac, keeping one hand on the tiller as he slowed them, looking for an easy approach to get
