John Ringo: Under a Graveyard Sky

“Jason Ranseld” had some very interesting papers indeed. Among others was a mate’s license. It wasn’t forged. Steve had gotten it while he was living the “Jason Ranseld” life many years agone. So he had some experience working with boats this big. In wind even. Twenty years agone.

He thus managed to maneuver out of the marina without major incident. What he hadn’t thought to bring was a coat. And it was bloody chilly. The clouds were high, thin and rippled in a regular humped pattern, and the sun shone through them weak and grey. There was a name for that type of cloud formation, but Steve couldn’t quite recall it.

He was worried about Stacey and the girls. Against direct threats they could take care of themselves, but a plague… There just wasn’t any way to truly prevent it absent quarantine gear. And it was in the general population.…

He looked up at the scudding clouds and still couldn’t remember the official name for the formation. But he remembered the day he’d asked his Grandfather Smith about them. Gran had been a veteran of WWII starting from his days as a militia man in New Guinea and always knew everything.

Gran had looked up, said it was called “a graveyard sky” then walked back in the house and had gotten very drunk.

* * *

“Come on, honey,” Stacey said. “Where are you?”

It was a nice neighborhood despite the relatively low occupancy. The housing downturn in the Virginia area had tended to impact high end homes more than lower end. And it was a very nice neighborhood. Which was why the beat-up Nissan Pathfinder with something piled on top under a tarp was getting a lot of looks from the remaining residents. Before long she’d have to explain their presence to the police. And since there wasn’t a good explanation…

“Jail?” Faith said.

“I don’t need that right now, Faith,” Stacey said. She didn’t want to call Steve in case there were problems. He didn’t need her nagging. “Besides, the check is good. Sort of.”

“Have a little…faith, Sis,” Sophia said.

“Oh, that’s sooo wise ,” Faith spat back.

Stacey started as her phone rang. She checked and it was Steve. Which could be good or bad…

“Tell me you’re not in jail,” Stacey said.

“Inbound to the rendezvous,” Steve said. “Glad you got that payday loan from Tom. The seller wasn’t impressed by lots of important looking paperwork. I think he’s still wondering about the wire transfer.”

“Which as I understand it we’d better be able to cover or things have to go to hell in a handbasket quick,” Stacey replied, putting the idling car in drive and creeping forward.

“Any problems on your end?”

“Just keeping the toilet paper on top of the car.”

* * *

“Okay, I see what you mean,” Steve said, chuckling.

The house was about ten thousand square feet and right on a navigable “creek” that would meet most areas’ definition of river. And it included a very nice T dock with enough room to tie up, say, a 45 foot Hunter sailboat named Mile Seven . There was even a convenient drive to bring a car around to the end of the dock. Which Stacey was, cautiously, doing as the girls ran down to the dock.

The reason for the caution was apparent by the cargo. Stacey was, in Steve’s opinion, an unrecognized mechanical and electrical genius. On the other hand, he had a tendency to hit other people’s thumbs with a hammer. That being said, as a former para he always handled packing. Especially if it involved anything torqued onto the roof of the Pathfinder.

Stacey had apparently gotten two of the spare tarps from the trolley and done…something with a great deal of twine and far too much para cord. He’d seen some smaller cars more overburdened in the Stans. However, those drivers had a bit more understanding of things like aerodynamics. And load shifting. The tarp looked a bit like a wind-battered green and brown potato.

“I can’t remember how the knot goes…” Faith said, pulling the stern line in and then bracing as the boat started to head out to sea again. “Help?”

“I’ve got it,” Sophia said. She’d already secured the fore line. Between them they got the stern of the boat alongside and the older sister quickly had it secured with a double hitch. “It’s simple.”

“Simple is a shotgun and a zombie,” Faith said.

“Quit arguing and start unloading,” Steve said, shutting down the boat. “We’re on short time.”

“Shaking it for all we’re worth, Captain, sir!” Sophia said, saluting sarcastically.

“That’s more like it,” Steve said.

* * *

Besides the mass of material, the main problem was first in was also first in. That is, just as the trailer had had to be packed with the heaviest items on the bottom and forward, the boat had to be packed with the heaviest items first. Which required unloading the entire trailer before they could get started on loading the boat.

They had just gotten the trailer completely unloaded when the visit Steve was dreading occurred.

“Dad,” Sophia said, glancing around the trailer. “Cop.”

“Roger,” Steve said. “Start the load.”

* * *

“Can I ask you what you’re doing, sir?” Officer Jason Young, Williamsburg PD, asked.

The morning shift had started slow. A couple of kids speeding, couple of burglary reports from Friday night. The usual.

Things seemed to be picking up, though. He’d just heard two separate 10–64, indecent exposure, calls, then a 10–64, 10–28, fight or disturbance. Whatever, things were picking up and here he was dealing with…well he wasn’t sure what he was dealing with. The call had been 10–66: suspicious person. The people just seemed to be loading a boat. But according to the neighbor who had called it in, the house connected to the dock was in foreclosure and nobody was supposed to be using the property. And the car, with badly secured materials on the roof, had been hanging around the neighborhood for nearly an hour.

“Loading my boat, Officer Young,” Steve said.

“This is private property and according to the neighbors not your property,” Young said. “Which means you are trespassing, sir.”

“A valid position, Officer Young,” Steve said. “The dock was convenient and the property is clearly not being used. It was, at best, a minor transgression and we’ll be gone within the hour.”

“Mind if I see some ID, sir?” Young asked. “You’re not American. Irish?”

“Australian,” Steve said, pulling out his driver’s license and trying not wince. Americans could never sort out Commonwealth accents. “And I’m a naturalized American citizen. Not a resident. I have a passport, American, as well.”

“Says here you live in Warrentown,” Young said. Which matched the plates on the Nissan.

“Yes, Officer,” Steve said, politely. “The address is correct.”

“Mind if I see your registration and proof of insurance?” Young asked.

“Of course,” Steve said, turning around.

“Before you open the car,” Young said. “Are there any weapons in the vehicle?”

“Ah,” Steve said, turning back to face the officer. “I was wondering when we’d get to that part. Yes, as a matter of fact. They are all in locked cases in the rear. My wife and I also have CCLs but we are not, at this point, carrying.”

“Okay,” Young said, his brow furrowing. “All?”

“There are quite a few,” Steve said. “Would you like to see? They’re rather buried still. We were loading from the trolley first.”

“Trolley?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, too calmly, “trailer.”

Young looked at the ladies continuing to load the boat. They didn’t look as if they were preparing for a trip to the Carribean. They looked nervous. And this cat was just too calm.