“Matty, you want to join me in the dinghy?” Mack called up to the cockpit.
“Sure. Is Andrew going to take watch?”
“Yep. I’ll hand up the 20 gauge. Loaded. Barrel high. Safety on, but do NOT put your finger on the trigger. Take your pistol. Andrew, get the 12 gauge and be sure it is loaded, and bring a full belt up with you.”
“Got it, Dad.”
Mack and Matty lowered the dinghy from the davits and climbed down the stern ladder. One waterproof duffle of essential gear – handheld VHF, emergency whistle, flares, extra ammo, and a couple bottles of water -- rested in the bow. Mack had decided to carry the guns uncovered and well-oiled so they were at the ready, thinking them pointless otherwise. The two settled onto opposite tubes of the dinghy as Mack pulled the starter cord, and the motor sputtered into a soft pulsing rhythm. He called up to Andrew, “Be sure the VHF is on 22 in case we call. We’ll take a quick turn through Gator Cove, then come back down river to that fish house. When you hear us pass, I want you to begin a scan of the fish house property and let us know if you see any movement before we get there and especially after we land. Matty will be on standby with the radio.”
“Got it covered, Dad.”
As they carved an arc away from the sloop and into the middle of the river, a small wave swept over the dark calm water. Mack kept the shotgun across his lap; Matty held the pistol loosely in her right hand with the VHF hanging around her neck where she could operate it with her left hand. Wind blowing their hair back from their faces, both squinted with the dinghy planning at top speed. “The entry to the cove should be just ahead on the right.” They had disappeared from the Requiem and rounded the next bend in the river. Mack eased off the throttle and edged closer to the bank of the shore. This area was unfamiliar to him, so he approached the narrow entrance to the cove cautiously. Buddy had described the entry channel to Mack a few times, but Mack did not know what to expect along the shore or exactly what the cove itself might look like. It had been big enough to hold Buddy’s seventy foot Davis sportfisherman with little room to spare. Buddy had used the cove as a weekend getaway where no one visited or could even spot his boat except for the outriggers which were easily overlooked by casual passersby. When Buddy wanted complete concealment, he would lower the outriggers to the side decks.
“What do you think, Dad?”
“Just keep watching everything around us.”
“Something wrong?”
“I just want to be careful. We’ve never been in here, so I don’t want to be surprised.” Mack slipped the motor into neutral, the idle a dull murmur that did not echo in the tiny cove. His eyes flicked nervously around the perimeter, the marsh grass banks and rough overgrowth. “No good landing spot. I had hoped the spring that Buddy thought bubbled up below the cove might offer a patch of clear water.” Mack dipped his hand in the tannic pool and touched his tongue. “Salty, brackish. Any fresh water must mix too quickly with the river water to rise to the surface. That tells me one piece of information that I needed. The other is whether we could anchor Requiem in here. It’s mighty snug. If I was not concerned about someone being able to make a close shot from the shore, this would be a lovely place to relax.”
“The narrow entry channel would be easy to block, wouldn’t it?”
“Good observation. You’re right. Another reason not to bring the Requiem in here.” Mack glanced around once more and, satisfied he had recorded a good mental image, he alerted Matty, “Hang on. I’m going to ease out the channel, then hurry down the river to your fish house.”
“I’m ready whenever.”
As they exited the cove, Mack’s hand twisting the throttle to accelerate, Matty turned toward him, her hand raised, “Dad, wait. Look.” There was a boat nearing the Requiem from downstream. From their position, they could not see if Andrew was in the cockpit or whether he had a weapon poised.
“Matty, be sure you have a bullet in the chamber.” Mack reached for his shotgun and checked the chamber of it as well. Laying it across his lap again, Mack twisted the throttle to full speed. The bow of the dinghy lifted for a moment before dropping onto plane, the engine trailing a thin wake as they skipped down the calm river. “Be prepared to aim.”
The approaching boat was a small commercial fishing vessel with an enclosed wheelhouse standing forward of a working deck. Portholes on the bow suggested a small cabin in the forecastle. Aside from the silhouette of someone at the wheel, Mack could not tell how many were aboard. Then again, there could be crew below the gunwales waiting to rise up when closer to their target. Was Requiem their target? Mack had to assume it was until he could determine otherwise.
“See if you can raise your mother or Andrew on the VHF. Use Channel 22 and don’t mention the boat’s name.”
Susan answered.
“Mom, do you see the boat coming toward you?”
“Yes. Andrew is in the cockpit but staying low. I am in the saloon. Where are you and your father?”
“Just approaching the bow. Keeping you between us and the other boat.”
Mack cut the engine as they bumped the hull, and Matty grabbed the anchor to hold the dinghy still and out of sight. The boat may have seen them coming downstream, may have seen their wake. Then again, the captain may have been too focused on the possible threat aboard the Requiem to notice the dinghy.
“Andrew, can you hear me?” Mack hissed his question hoping that Andrew could hear him in the cockpit.
“Yes,” Andrew whispered back.
“Can you see the boat?”
“No, I am too low.”
“I can mainly hear its diesel engine, but I also have a small view of the roof of the wheelhouse. They are less than fifty yards off the starboard stern and moving slow. Stay down unless they open fire.”
Mack leaned toward Matty. “I am going to let them get to about twenty yards and then stand up. They will not be able to see me well, but they should be able to hear me. You stay low, keep the dinghy against the hull, and let me talk. If shooting starts, aim for the windshield of the wheelhouse. Hand me the radio.”
When Mack judged the other boat close enough to hit with the shotguns, he stood up in the dinghy balancing one foot on the tube and resting the shotgun on the side deck of the Requiem, out of sight, switched back to Channel 16 and waved his empty left hand while speaking into the VHF “Ahoy there. Skipper, please stop your boat where you are and identify yourself.”
No reply, but Mack could hear the engine slowing.
“Unidentified motor vessel in South River, this is the sailing vessel Requiem. You are approaching our stern from downriver. Please identify yourself and state your business. Over.”
“Aye, this is the fishing boat God’s Will. Over.” The engine idled as the boat floated to a stop.
“What can we do for you, God’s Will? Over.”
“Thought you might be in trouble, Captain. Over.”
“Negative, God’s Will. Requiem is fine. Thanks for checking. Over.” Mack tried to sound firm but friendly. He did not want to antagonize God’s Will without knowing the strength of its crew. He preferred the other boat would simply reverse course and leave them alone. Mack also had developed a basic distrust of people who touted their religious affiliation. Too often, they were the very people who assumed those outside their own congregation were not worthy and therefore constituted eligible prey. As these thoughts whipped through his brain, he noted the extended pause with no reply from God’s Will.
“Matty, Andrew, be ready. I have a bad feeling here,” Mack hissed to his two children.
Returning to the radio, Mack asked, “God’s Will, where are you heading? Over.”
“Well, Requiem, I’m not sure that’s any of your nevermind. We’re just poor fishermen lookin’ for a catch.”
“Not prying, Captain. Now that you know we are not in need of assistance, I thought maybe you’d want to get about your business. Over.”
“Who says that being here is not my business? You don’t own these waters. I bet a boat like yours has some surplus stores it could share. Fishin’ hereabouts been rather poor of late. How ‘bout that?”
“Sorry, Captain, we’re on short rations ourselves. Anchored here trying to catch a few fish.” Mack lied because the other captain’s tone carried a threat, not a sincere need. It was a judgment call and not one that Mack liked making, but his family’s lives were at risk, so he would yield nothing before he was totally satisfied with the other man’s intent and true needs. He disliked this part of the new world they had entered, but he was certain it was appropriate and necessary if they were to survive. He could not reveal the extent of their supplies or he would likely lose them all if the other boat was better manned and better armed. As they talked, God’s Will drifted past the stern of Requiem and came into Mack’s view. The other captain could now see that Matty was in the dinghy with Mack.
“Just the two of you, Requiem?”
Mack alerted Andrew, “Safety off son.” Then, addressing the radio, “What about your crew, captain?” As the question left his lips, Mack could see the top of two more heads trying to peer over the fishing boat’s gunwale. “I see you have at least a couple of crew to help you.”
“Yep, you’d be right about that, so let’s stop jawing. We’re comin’ aboard.”
“Negative, God’s Will. Stand off. If you approach, I will consider your actions attempted piracy.”
“You sure talk big for a man with a young woman floating in an inflatable boat that we can sink with a single shot.”
“I repeat, God’s Will. Retreat. Reverse course and leave us peacefully.”
“Or what?” The diesel on God’s Will revved loudly as the captain steered directly for Requiem.
“Andrew. Warning shot!” Andrew jumped up and fired a round over the wheelhouse of the charging boat while Mack lifted his gun from the side deck. Three men stood up on the fishing boat’s open working deck, each armed with a rifle or shotgun.
“Matty, shoot the windshield.” Matty aimed for the wheelhouse and watched as the windshield exploded into a starburst of glass shards. Mack heard the whistle of a rifle bullet pass the dinghy and fired his shotgun near the captain’s silhouette. The silhouette dropped, but Mack did not know whether he had shot the captain or just scared him. Andrew was firing high on the armed crew, and they ducked immediately below the gunwale as the boat swerved away from its collision course with the Requiem. All three maintained their aim on the retreating fishing boat and fired above any head that lifted into sight.
Without taking his eyes off the fishing boat, Mack called to his family. “Everyone OK? Anyone hurt?” Susan eased her head above the companionway steps to ask the same. Everyone affirmed in a single cacophony of relief, adrenaline surging in each of them as they watched the black smoke of God’s Will’s diesel speed the old boat back toward the Neuse and open water.
“Matty, please walk the dinghy aft. Andrew, we need your assistance getting the dinghy back onto davits. Susan, are you okay?” Mack climbed the stern swimming ladder while his children secured the dinghy and outboard. He stepped quickly across the cockpit benches to embrace his wife and gaze into her eyes as he asked again if she was unharmed. Susan managed a weak but sincere smile.
“Yes, dear, I am fine. A little rattled by the excitement, but no injury.”
His heart still pounding, Mack sighed as he held Susan close for his own comfort as well as hers. Despite having rehearsed similar assaults in his mind in the months leading to their departure, an actual gun battle was something his emotions could not truly anticipate. With lives, his family’s lives, at stake against an unexpected threat, his mind raced to analyze and assess what they had done well and where they may have erred. Had they fired too soon? Too late? Did his words on the radio escalate the conflict more than he intended? Was he wrong to expose the family to the risk of attack? It was a question fundamental to their decision to leave their land home behind in favor of a movable target such as the boat. He had never been certain that moving onto the boat was the best choice, but he had convinced himself that it was the safest because of the impossible variables of trying to secure their home ashore. Mostly, an attack the second day of their voyage on waters so close to their land home shocked him. He thought they would have a period of uneventful wandering before facing the desperation of armed marauders looking for easy targets. He thought they would have a few weeks to settle into boat life before confronting the harshest dangers. He would second guess his decisions for days.