Dead Reckoning: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival series, page 1
DEAD RECKONING
DARK WATERS - BOOK 3
BRUNO MILLER
ABOUT THE BOOK
Navigating through one storm builds courage for the next.
Spencer and his faithful labrador retriever, Finn, continue their quest to reach his girlfriend, Kate, in Stuart, Florida, before she becomes another casualty of the chaos caused by the EMPs that have crippled the eastern seaboard and possibly the country.
Leaving Marathon, Florida, in lawless turmoil behind them, Spencer, and his newly minted crew, consisting of Rob, Natalie, and their daughter Maya, soon realize the open ocean is no safe haven. With the potential for danger lurking behind every wave and conditions rivaling those found on shore, Spencer and the others are forced to fight for their survival on the high seas.
As time runs out for Kate in Stuart, Spencer must overcome the odds that threaten to break his resolve and test his skills as a Coast Guard veteran in a race against the clock where he finds himself the de facto captain of the recently commandeered Black Bird. Success requires more than just a steady hand—it demands a crew bound by trust and a willingness to do whatever it takes to make it through.
Brutal storms, murderous pirates and desperate travelers fleeing the EMP ravaged coast, who seem more than willing to abandon all vestiges of civility, are only the beginnings of the challenges they will face together as a team. Can Spencer find a way to navigate the dangers ahead, bring his crew together, and reach Kate before it’s too late?
Dead Reckoning: Book 3
Copyright © 2024 Bruno Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design by MiblArt.
Artwork by Benjamin Brunori.
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NEWSLETTER
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Spencer held the wheel on course until he was certain the autopilot had engaged while keeping a wary eye on Ciro. The robust, jet-black raven and apparent mascot of the trawler and—its former occupants—was here to stay; that much was obvious. But it would take some effort and a little time before either Spencer or Finn would trust the boisterous animal. Making peace with the raven hardly made Spencer’s list of priorities right now, though. He was still reeling from the loss of his and Kate’s home.
Restless had proven to be more than just a boat; in a short time, it had become the source of cherished memories and unforgettable adventures. Every moment spent alongside Kate and Finn aboard the thirty-one-foot Hunter sailboat seemed to stretch beyond the confines of time, etching itself deeply into their shared history.
Spencer and Rob had meticulously removed all the valuables from Restless that hadn’t been shot to pieces before she succumbed to her wounds and sank into the depths of the deep blue sea—an image Spencer was certain would linger in his dreams until he was old and gray. But old age was something he might never see if he, Rob, Natalie, and their daughter, Maya, ran into any more pirates like the prior occupants of their new ride.
The Black Bird’s former crew of oceangoing bandits wasn’t the only game in town, and in light of the devastation caused by the EMPs, there were bound to be more thieves waiting to pounce on unsuspecting boaters fleeing the mainland. Like sharks to a wounded fish, the nefarious and ill-intentioned would swarm toward the east coast of the wounded continent, looking for easy prey. The reality of the situation was that they were on their own. That wasn’t a new revelation by any stretch of the imagination. Spencer had known that survival was up to him from the moment the bombs went off, if not before. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of it all, and he did his best to channel his energy toward things he could control.
Ciro hustled across the control panel and made his way to a nearby wall cabinet, where he pulled the door open a few inches with his long, sleek bill. Finn followed along underneath the bird nervously, whining at the raven’s every movement, as he had since joining Spencer on the bridge after his nap with Maya.
“Easy, boy. It’s all right.” Spencer did his best to calm the dog but shared Finn’s uneasiness.
Ciro’s sharp beak appeared more than capable of causing harm, and the bird’s dark, beady eyes seemed devoid of any emotion, as if they were perfectly suited for mischief. Spencer summoned the courage to approach and assisted the bird by opening the cabinet door fully. He’d planned on going through the bridge with a fine-tooth comb to see what was on hand up here. But at the very least, he wanted to locate the ship’s certificate of registry, assuming the previous captain even had the document. Judging by the state of disrepair and general neglect on the vessel, Spencer doubted there was any official paperwork left on board. But he held out hope that his search would prove otherwise.
Ciro had other immediate intentions for Spencer, though, and was only interested in gaining access to the large bag of dried corn and seeds tucked away in the back corner. Spencer opened the bag and scooped out a handful of the feed, piling it into a cup attached to Ciro’s roost. The chewed-up bits of corn and seed shells lining the tray underneath the sandpaper-wrapped perch indicated this was where dinner was served. And if a meal would calm the bird down, it was worth a few seconds of his time.
Ciro settled in on his perch after another animated dash back across the helm station, with Finn hot on his heels. With a short flap of his wings, Ciro made the transition from the helm rail to his perch, narrowly avoiding losing a tail feather or two as Finn attempted to nip at him from below. Ciro all but ignored the half-hearted attack and settled out of reach on his roost, cracking seeds and hulling corn kernels while Spencer turned to more important business.
“Here, Finn, come on. This is your new spot, buddy.” Spencer slapped the tall, cushioned couch behind the helm, encouraging Finn to jump up and get comfortable. They would be up on the bridge all night and well into the day. He’d brought a couple of energy drinks up with him to make sure of it. Spencer wasn’t about to trust the autopilot or any of the other systems on a boat he knew practically nothing about. And he didn’t want to bother Rob and Nat, figuring it was best to let the couple and their daughter get some rest. There’d be plenty for them to do come daylight.
Finn hesitated but eventually made the leap up onto the seat near Ciro’s perch. The dog’s eyes darted back and forth between Spencer and the bird.
“It’s okay, boy.” Spencer tossed the butterscotch-colored dog a well-earned treat from his backpack and hoped he was right.
If they were going to be stuck on this boat together, the sooner they all learned to coexist, the better off they’d be. To hope the two would actually get along was probably asking for too much, but he’d settle for the former if he could get it. Otherwise, the bridge—and the boat, for that matter—was going to get crowded awfully fast.
Finding the certificate of registry was a top priority for Spencer. Finn and Ciro being occupied enough to ignore each other for the time being gave him the chance to snoop around the pilothouse unencumbered.
The registry would list vital specifications about the boat. He was eager to learn the vessel’s specifics, not only to satisfy his own curiosity but to understand the old trawler’s limits and avoid taking any damage or running out of necessities in his efforts to reach Kate. He’d already gone through one boat and didn’t plan on making a habit out of sinking ships, at least not the ones he needed.
The more pertinent information listed on the registry documents would include—but not be limited to—the Black Bird’s draft, true length, breadth, and gross tonnage, all of which were important metrics for navigation, especially through tricky inlets like the St. Lucie Inlet and the Hatteras Inlet in North Carolina. Spencer had some guesses as to how much the steel-hulled trawler should draw, along with some of the other specifications, but without the paperwork, they were just th at: guesses.
The way the Black Bird handled reminded him of the 110-foot Island-class cutter he’d been temporarily assigned to out of basic, only slower and less nimble. But with only a single screw propelling the trawler through the water, that much was expected. Now that he was on board and had seen what there was to see of the vessel, he revised his initial estimate of its overall length to somewhere between seventy and eighty feet. The Black Bird wasn’t as large as he initially thought when her ominous form materialized out of the fog, but compared to the Hunter, these new digs were spacious.
Other much-needed information, like how much diesel and potable water the Black Bird held, was equally important. So were any diagrams of shipboard systems. It wouldn’t do Kate or her parents any good if Spencer arrived in Stuart dead in the water. The idea was to swoop into Stuart, grab Kate and her parents, and make a hasty exit. None of that would be possible or worthwhile if they didn’t have the resources to support more people.
Then Spencer had a thought. What if Tom refused to let Kate leave, or what if Tom and Debbie refused to join them? Would Kate be willing to abandon her family? These were possibilities Spencer hadn’t considered. He didn’t know how her parents would react to his rescue efforts, but pulling into Stuart on a boat that looked like it was on its last leg wouldn’t help his cause, nor would it convince Kate’s parents that leaving Stuart on the Black Bird was a sound idea. But he was getting ahead of himself again.
Spencer found the appropriate panel and extinguished the vessel’s running lights, then located the auxiliary light switch for the bridge and threw the lever, bathing him, Finn, and Ciro in a warm red glow. Steaming without running lights was illegal, but in his opinion, that was no longer a relevant mandate. He’d be more than happy to go back to following standard navigational rules just as soon as law and order returned to the seas—or at least the hope of expecting support if he got into trouble. As far as Spencer was concerned, it was up to him and the others on board to do whatever they had to do to survive and reach Kate. Anything required of them to achieve that goal and make Stuart by tomorrow was fair game in his playbook.
The lack of bright cabin light would hinder his search slightly, but it was worth the inconvenience to avoid making the Black Bird a potential target. He’d seen enough action in the last twenty-four hours to last a lifetime. The last thing he wanted to do was invite more trouble. Another advantage of operating under the red lights was that he would maintain his night vision, making any vessels using running lights easier to spot at a distance.
Of course, he had use of the ship’s radar to alert him of any nearby boats, a huge advantage over the instruments available on the Hunter. Still, Spencer was reluctant to trust any of the Black Bird’s systems yet and would probably remain skeptical for some time—or at least until he’d familiarized himself with everything and its functionality.
Spencer finished his search of the lower cabinets and open shelves under the console. Sitting back on his heels, he sighed with disappointment, then pulled himself to his feet.
“Well, nothin’ under there.” Spencer eyed Finn, who’d finished his treat long ago and was hoping for another.
The dog had taken a position at the far end of the padded bench seat, opposite Ciro, who was hunched over on his perch and sound asleep. Whether the red lights or a full belly had triggered the bird’s nap, Spencer wasn’t sure, but he was thankful for the quiet and hoped Ciro would sleep through the night. Finn gave up on his chances at another treat and curled up into a tight ball. He struggled to keep his eyes open while following Spencer around the cabin.
“It’s all right, boy. Get some rest.” Spencer cracked open his first can of liquid motivation, causing Finn’s heavy eyes to widen briefly.
Spencer took a big gulp of the citrus-flavored energy drink and placed it in a cup holder by the helm station. Before resuming his search for the registry, he took a moment to run his hand along Finn’s head and down his back a few times, lulling the dog to sleep. Spencer moved his backpack out of the way and leaned back against the bench seat. He surveyed the console and confirmed the autopilot was holding their course accurately, then let his gaze drift into the blackness of the night outside the bullet-riddled windows.
His eyes settling on the bow and beyond, he envisioned the coast of Florida coming into view tomorrow. Not much had gone according to plan so far, but all things considered, he had no right to complain. Kate would be disappointed about the loss of Restless; there’d be no sugarcoating the news. And as much as he dreaded relaying what had happened to their home and reliving the tragedy through her sadness, Spencer was filled with a strange sense of hope. Sitting behind the wheel of this multi-ton brute of a boat, with the gentle rumble of the diesel engine flowing through his body, Spencer couldn’t help but think fate had left him exactly where he needed to be.
CHAPTER TWO
If there was anything Spencer had an abundance of, it was time. He wished that wasn’t the case, but at ten to twelve knots, give or take, he wouldn’t break any records reaching Stuart. They’d been steaming for a few hours but still hadn’t made up for the miles lost due to the course deviation caused by the faulty compass reading aboard Restless. And no matter how many times Spencer plotted the course to St. Lucie Inlet, the numbers wouldn’t change without the passage of time.
If Spencer’s caffeine-fueled calculations were correct, they still had about eighteen or nineteen hours of travel ahead of them before they could even start looking for land. He might be able to shave an hour or more off their ETA if he could coax a few more knots out of the rusty trawler, but he was fairly confident it was already running at near-maximum speed. The temptation to push the vessel to her limits was very real and a hard impulse to ignore, though, especially when he thought about what Kate might be going through right now.
The only thing keeping Spencer sane at the moment was the logic that it was nighttime and, with any luck, things were quiet and calm in Stuart right now. He knew that line of reasoning was flawed; if anything, Damon’s house had been more dangerous in the dark of night. But he was powerless to do anything more about the situation he was in. He hated the feeling of helplessness that was beginning to infiltrate his every thought. And even if he were to be reckless and push the boat mechanically, they still wouldn’t make Stuart until at least late tomorrow night, if not the following morning. That was plenty of time to obsess over all the terrible things that were or might possibly be happening in Stuart.
Without knowing the specifications of the boat and the ability of the Caterpillar power plant propelling it through the water, he had to be conservative with the throttle. He’d settled on an RPM reading that sounded right to him based on his experience with boats of a similar size. Push too hard and he’d burn too much fuel and maybe damage the engine. Too slow and there was a chance they’d get to Stuart too late. A thought he did his best not to dwell on but one that dogged his troubled mind just the same. Sitting here behind the wheel only added to his misery. It felt like a woefully inadequate way to spend his time while nurturing his impatience.
Spencer resumed his search for ship documents in the upper cabinets, eager to find the paperwork and keep himself busy. He was careful to open and close doors quietly so as not to wake Ciro. Finn was out cold and snoring loudly, his back left leg dangling off the couch. Spencer was jealous. He wished he could go to sleep and wake up in Stuart, the only way he imagined the time passing with any amount of peace and speed.
As Spencer rummaged through the cabinets and pushed aside what amounted to a collection of random items equivalent to what a person might find in the kitchen junk drawer, he was reminded of a saying his mother used in times of hardship.
If you can’t be happy, be helpful. It was a phrase he’d heard more than once, but mostly, it brought to mind the passing of his aunt. His mom took the loss of her sister hard, as expected, but was able to cope with the loss by occupying herself with helping others and keeping busy. There was certainly plenty to do to get the vessel in shape. The neglect and loose living of the pirates was evident everywhere Spencer looked.
