The Wandering Island Factory Read online

  Chapter 16

  Turning north added two additional months to their trip. Progress was so slow that they often anchored during the mornings when the winds and the currents pushed against them the hardest south, only to start moving again when the wind turned north in the afternoons. Late evenings and into the nights was when they made most of the ground, according to GPS. At best, when not anchored, they managed to drift east instead of south.

  By the time they ran out of dried split peas, the GPS started showing them one hundred miles west of Santa Barbara. More disturbing than the vegetable shortage was they had yet to meet any ships at sea. Where had all the boats gone?

  Surely they should have stumbled across a few fishing boats by now.

  The radio suggested that the closer to the coast they got, the stronger the southern current would get and the more drifting they should expect. The radio had been clear most nights and they had picked up lots of information. But the mystery of where all the fishing boats had gone was baffling. Jason suspected that small craft may have been grounded because of the treacherous coastal currents, which was scary enough to contemplate, but another thought lingered in his mind. They could be confiscating small crafts for rescue purposes.

  A sailboat wouldn't work for rescues, so confiscation of their boat wasn't a big risk, but they might not be able to sell it either, for the same practical reason. And since most of their money was tied up in it, that was a huge concern.

  His watch said it was 2:17 AM Thursday when a light appeared in the distance.

  Gina grabbed the binoculars and stuck her head out the window. "I can't tell what it is, but I see flashes of blue and red," she said, bringing her head back in from the wind.

  "Well, we'll know soon enough, I suspect. I reckon we ought to turn up the lights on the sail, huh?"

  She twisted the dial to its brightest setting as Jason continued the figure eights. He checked the charge on the batteries. The extra lights had maxed-out the stern generator, and the batteries had stopped charging. But the lights were attracting attention, for good or bad. With the lights on the sail, hundreds of feet in the air, they could easily be seen for miles, well over the horizon. The figure eights probably made it look like a circling prop-plane in distress.

  At ten knots, they couldn't outrun a canoe. They just kept course and waited as the mysterious light in the distance slowly grew bigger.

  "This is The United States Coastguard. Bring your vessel to a halt now and prepare to be boarded," boomed from the loudspeaker as four searchlights roamed across their boat.

  Jason dropped anchor and used the charge on the batteries to reel in the massive parasail while the rest of the family assembled near the stern.

  In a matter of minutes, armed guardsmen were walking every inch of the decks.

  "Stop what you're doing," the man shouted to Jason as he stormed the tiny control room, weapon drawn.

  "I would be happy to," Jason said, but didn't release the controls, "but if I do, the sail might crash into your ship, or mine."

  "Stop what you're doing, now!"

  Jason let go of the controls, and within seconds the sail slammed into the water between the two ships.

  The crash sounded like a bomb going off and the wave rocked both ships, but fortunately, none of the armed guardsmen overreacted.

  Jason held his hands up, then gestured to the controls, "If I don't finish bringing in the sail, even now that it's crashed, it'll fill with surface currents and we'll start to drift south, fast. Anchor or no anchor."

  The guardsman radioed it in, then agreed to let Jason back behind the controls, heavily supervised.

  For several intense minutes, every inch of the boat was searched and inspected. IDs were confiscated and checked over the radio. All members of the family were separated from each other and questioned individually.

  "So," Jason said when the family was finally reunited on the stern of the ship, "what uh, or, where can we bring this thing into port? I mean, you can see we came all the way from Hawaii, we've been months at sea. Where can we put ashore and get some dirt under our feet?"

  The guardsmen looked at each other, "Even if you could battle the currents near shore, which you can't, and even if you could keep from getting ripped apart on all the debris and submerged structures, which you can't, the coasts have been completely evacuated for about a hundred miles inland. We've had six tsunamis in the last month, that's over one a week—"

  "Then," Jason asked, "just where can we go?"

  "Not here."

  "We're US citizens," Makayla said, hands on her hips, "and you're telling us we can't enter the US?"

  "That's about the situation, Ma'am," the guardsman said.

  "Now, just wait," Jason said, watching the mother boiling to a good steam, "surely there is some assistance you can render. Coordinates to where we can put in, somewhere to get more food and fuel for our stove. How about going up to Alaska or Canada? Can we put in there?"

  "We can't prevent you from putting in at Canada, but their coasts have been evacuated too. Even if you survive getting to shore, there will be nobody for miles."

  "What about returning to Hawaii?" Ava asked.

  "There isn't much there to return to," the guardsman said.

  "Look," Gina said, "you've given us a long list of can'ts, how about a few cans."

  "They're radioing in on that right now. It takes time. Usually about an hour."

  "Well," Makayla said, wagging her finger at the armed men, "you've been here at least that long already!"

  Jason jumped in again, "If I get the maps, can you show us where the new currents are, maybe some indication on how the trade winds have shifted and such, some hazards to look out for? We've heard some things about Panama, but can't get any information about how it affected the currents down south."

  The guardsman silently nodded, "Keep at least three hundred knots from Panama, you'll never survive it."

  The other guardsman spoke up, "And that's if it doesn't get any worse, and that's the one direction that everything seems to be flowing."

  "What about looting and riots?" Nathan asked, "Is that why you boarded so fast with guns drawn and everything? Are the riots that bad?"

  "Some. Looters are about all you'll find on the coasts."

  "Should we be worried about pirates—" Jason started.

  "No, I wouldn't—"

  "Alaska out of the question?" Jason asked again.

  "For your boat, it is," one guardsman put it bluntly.

  It seemed like they had survived a biblical flood, and were still somehow screwed. It didn't hardly seem fair.

  After three hours of waiting, the family was given a choice by the coastguard. Because they were verified as citizens, they could officially put in a mayday and be rescued. The coastguard would deliver them a hundred miles inland by helicopter, and release them with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The guard would also be required to sink their crude little boat with all of their possessions.

  The second choice was that the coastguard would release them with an official warning to venture no closer than one hundred knots from the coast of the US. Any closer would be a violation punishable by fines, confiscations, and possible imprisonment.

  It was not an easy decision, and the coastguard was in no mood to wait long for their answer.