Scott Williams - The Pulse

“Yeah, right. She does seem to sail well, though.”

“Oh yeah, and I’m sure she’s fast too, in the right conditions, with her long waterline. Out in the blue water she would be quite comfortable compared to Ibis .”

The route to open water took them right past the airport, where they could see smoke still rising from the rubble of the terminal, and a few undamaged jetliners that had been far enough away on the runway to avoid the explosions and fires. There was no sign of activity there, as the airport now had little to offer to anyone on the island. A few miles beyond the waterfront runway, the westernmost point of St. Thomas slipped by to starboard and soon they were off soundings with nothing in the way and 20 knots of favorable trade winds to bear them swiftly to Culebra. With no need to keep a lookout off the bow for now, Artie and Larry made their way back to the cockpit to join Pete and Maryanne for snacks and conversation as they all took turns steering the yacht by hand. Artie was glad to be moving, but he also couldn’t help thinking that in the few hours that would elapse from they time they left the mooring until they were anchored at this first waypoint on their voyage, he could have flown all the way to New Orleans and driven his car to Casey’s apartment—if only there were an airplane that could fly, or a car that would start….

But despite his impatience, the crossing to the other island went surprisingly quickly, and Artie soon found himself back at the bow with Larry to help spot the channel as they rounded a barren rocky point and entered a narrow opening on the south side of the island that led into a large and well-protected harbor. Boats were anchored on both sides of the channel and off the beach that fronted the small town surrounding the basin. Artie guessed there were at least fifty large cruisers and some smaller day boats, most of them sailing vessels. As soon as they were safely inside the anchorage and past the reefs, Larry took over the helm and guided Celebration to a spot deep enough to accommodate her draft and give enough swinging room at anchor, whatever the wind direction. He said he was anxious to check on Scully and his boat and Pete said they could borrow the inflatable dinghy, as he and Maryanne were in no hurry to go to shore and could wait until the next day.

Larry rowed, pointing the blunt bow of the clumsy inflatable at an opening in the mangroves on a stretch of the shore away from the main cluster of houses and stores. As they neared a narrow beach, Artie could see a large white tarp stretched over a framework of two-by-fours and posts. Protruding from under the makeshift workshop roof were the upswept bows of two slender hulls that brought to mind giant canoes, more than any other kind of boat. They pulled the dinghy up on the sand and Larry secured it with an anchor.

“There she is,” he said. “ Alegria : our ticket to New Orleans.”

Artie walked across the sand to get a closer look before saying anything. The two V-shaped catamaran hulls were supported by heavy wooden cradles blocked up over the sand by various bits and blocks of timber. Workbenches and sawhorses surrounding the hulls were cluttered with other miscellaneous assemblies and fabrications that were obviously part of the boat, and tools, assorted hardware, jugs of epoxy, and cans of paint were scattered in haphazard piles on every available work surface. A stepladder stood next to one of the hulls, giving access to the deck, which was at least eight feet from the ground. Artie’s anticipation of getting underway to New Orleans turned to dismay, which was written all over his face when he looked back at Larry.

“This isn’t a boat, it’s a construction project! It’ll take forever to put all this together and get it in the water.”

“It’s closer than you think, Doc. Look, I know you can’t visualize how it’s going to be—most people can’t when they see it this way. But when these 36-foot hulls are spread apart to assembly width, the overall beam will be 20 feet—that’s a big platform with an easy motion at sea. All the beam and deck components are built. We just have to install some hardware here and there, step the mast, do some bits of rigging, and we’ll be ready to launch. Cosmetics be damned, I’ll paint her later after all this shit is over with. She’s one hell of a boat. You’re gonna see once she’s in the water.”

“It all just looks so overwhelming to me. I mean, how are we supposed to even move these huge hulls apart to put them together? How do we get it in the water without a crane or something?”

“It’s all downhill to the water, Doc,” Larry said, pointing out the barely perceptible slope from the boat shed to the high-tide line. “Trust me, I know how to get it done.”

“So where’s this friend of yours, Scully, who’s supposed to be working on it?”

“Right there,” Larry said, pointing to the harbor.

Artie saw a lone figure paddling a long sea kayak with bright yellow decks and two separate cockpits, the front one empty. The paddler was coming from the direction of the main town, across the harbor. As he ran the bow of the kayak up on the beach and stepped out, Artie could see that he looked just the way his daughter had described him. He was shirtless and barefoot, clad in nothing but a pair of ragged cutoffs that had once been camouflage military fatigues. There couldn’t have been a spare ounce of fat on him. As he pulled the boat up above the tide line, wiry muscles rippled under his skin like knotted cords. That skin was a shade of ebony rarely seen today with so many generations of mixed blood lending lighter tones to the color of most people of his race. Scully looked like he could be purely African from some untouched equatorial tribal lineage, but what stood out even more than his striking dark color and outstanding physique was his wild hair. As he walked up to them, dreadlocks that hung nearly to his waist swung like tangled lengths of rope across his shoulders and behind his back.

“Scully! What the hell have you been doing, mon? Why don’t you have my boat in the water yet?” Larry grinned as he stepped forward to greet his best friend.

“A mon got to have a break sometime. I an’ I goin’ to de town to find out de news and den I look bok dis way an’ see dis rubber dinghy on de beach. T’ink some pirate be comin’ to steal de boat, so I comin’ bok fast to put a stop!”

“I am a pirate, don’t you know, Scully. Hey, this is my brother, Artie. He’s Casey’s father. You remember Casey, don’t you?”

“How can a mon forget de most beautiful girl ever comin’ down de island? Pleased to meet you, mon. An’ your daughter, she wid you?”

“No, I wish she were.”

“Casey’s in New Orleans at the college,” Larry said. “Artie’s not supposed to be here in Culebra with me. He came down to help me deliver a boat to St. Thomas. You remember that new little schooner I was telling you about when I left here to take that Beneteau to Trinidad? Well, we were halfway through the passage when the lights went out. What about you, did you see anything when it happened?”

“You know a mon not supposed to be up all de night’cept when he navigating on de boat. No, I an’ I sleepin’ when dem seh dey seen de flashin’ lights. Only in de mornin’ when I put on de radio an’ de music don’t play, I t’ink somet’ing hoppen. But I got work to do on de boat an’ not to worry, until later in de mornin’ when I try de drill press…an’ she don’t turn. Den I check de cable…and den try de saw. No juice to de shop an’ no light shinin’, so den I paddle to de town an’ find same t’ing everywhere in de island. No mon he can seh what is de reason, but some of dem talkin’ of de lights in de night sky. An’ some of dem say dat mehbe it’s de sun gonna burn up, or mehbe it’s some nuclear missiles fired up by de evil dictators in Bobbylon. But I seh Jah, he strike de Earth wid his mighty hand, ’cause he is displeased wid all dis desecration of his creation.”