Taking the same path the ferry had when it left the morning before, they raced around the end of the island so that they could reach the west side. The other ships were clearly visible now about half a mile offshore, two cruisers with awning-covered cockpits and probably small cabins below. Nothing fancy — fishing boats for the tourists. Something they might go out on for the day, but probably not spend the night on. Boats like those seldom came anywhere near the island, usually sticking closer to the Costa Rican coastline.
Robert picked up the walkie-talkie. “Enrique, stay right with him.”
Enrique, driving the other boat, tucked in ten yards behind them as Robert put them on an intercept course. Two hundred feet before they reached the other boats, they turned sharply to the right, cutting across the cruisers’ path. They circled around and did it again, making it clear they wanted the other boats to stop.
It took a third pass to get the cruisers to idle down their engines.
“Stay in front of them,” Robert ordered Enrique. He moved his boat in closer, and glanced at Dominic. “Give it a shot.”
Dominic could see at least a dozen people on each cruiser — men, women, children, with none looking over forty. They were a mix of Hispanic, Caucasian, and African-American.
He raised the bullhorn to his mouth. “Turn your boats around. The Isabella Island Resort is closed.” He repeated the message in Spanish.
Robert circled them on the other side.
“The island is closed,” Dominic repeated. “You cannot go there.”
Someone shouted, “You can’t do that! We have to land. We’re trying to save our families.”
Dominic tensed. How would they turn these people…the children away?
“Tell them again,” Robert said. “Tell them we’ll be forced to take action if they don’t leave.”
“You need to leave now,” Dominic said into the megaphone. “If you don’t…” He paused, an idea forming in his mind. “If you don’t, you’re going to get sick. The virus is on the island. We have too many people to take care of already.”
Robert looked over at him, surprised.
“You’ve been hit, too?”
“Yes.” Dominic was tempted to embellish the story, but held his tongue.
The group on the first cruiser huddled together. After several minutes, the sister boat moved in so that the two were almost touching.
“That was quick thinking,” Robert said in a low voice.
“I hope it works,” Dominic replied.
They could hear raised voices coming from the conference.
Robert slipped out of the pilot’s seat. “Maybe they need a little extra motivation.”
He retrieved a pistol from the front storage locker.
“What are you doing?” Dominic asked, eyes widening.
“Bring a little reality to their discussion.”
Robert aimed the gun’s barrel just in front of the two boats, and pulled the trigger. The boom echoed across the water. Everyone froze for a moment, then looked over at the speedboat.
“Give me that,” Robert said as he took the megaphone from Dominic. He raised it to his lips. “You’ve already been told the island is closed. Now turn your boats around.”
“There’s nowhere else to go!” a woman screamed. “Nowhere safe!”
“It’s not safe here, either.”
“But our children!”
Dominic could see Robert close his eyes for a second. “We’re sorry. We wish we could help,” Robert said. “We don’t have the resources. We can’t let you on the island, and we will stop you if you try.”
To emphasize the point, one of the men on Enrique’s boat held the shotgun out to his side so it could be seen.
“You have three minutes,” Robert said, “or we will assume you are trying to stay.”
“Then what? You’ll shoot us?” another woman yelled.
“We’d rather not, but none of you is getting on the island. So the choice is yours.”
“Here,” Dominic said, holding out his hand.
“What are you going to say?” Robert asked.
“Just give it to me.”
Robert reluctantly handed back the megaphone.
Dominic spoke into it. “How much fuel do you have left?”
A quick conversation, then a man called out, “Why?”
“Do you have enough to go fifty kilometers?”
“Maybe. Not much more than that.”
Robert whispered, “What are you thinking?”
Dominic answered him by saying into the megaphone, “Santa Teresa Island is about forty-five or so kilometers due south of here. It’s about half the size of Isabella, but is uninhabited. You’ll be safe there.”
“We don’t have enough supplies,” one of the men said.
“We can spare you some rice, and maybe a few other things.”
Robert pushed the megaphone away from Dominic’s mouth. “What are you talking about? We need everything we’ve got.”
“We have plenty,” Dominic said. The resort was well stocked for the holidays. “Would you rather shoot them? Shoot those kids?”
Robert looked conflicted, but he dropped his hand to his side.
The people on the cruiser were talking together again. When they finished, one of the men yelled, “You’re sure about Santa Teresa?”
“One hundred percent. If you don’t have charts, we can get you one.”
For a few minutes, the only sound was the low gurgle of the boats’ engines.
“Okay,” the man said. “We’d appreciate whatever you can give us.”
Relieved, Dominic switched places with the man with the shotgun on the other speedboat. He and Enrique headed back into the bay.
They ended up giving the refugees a map, two bags of rice, a few cases of canned vegetables, some fruit and dried goods, and two fishing poles with extra tackle. They transferred them via an unmanned rubber boat, which they also let the others keep.
Once the food was on board, the cruisers headed south away from Isabella Island. The speedboats stayed where they were until the two other vessels disappeared over the horizon, then they headed back to the resort.
“Would you really have shot them?” Dominic asked Robert when they were back in the bar, glasses of beer in front of them.
“I don’t know. But would we really have had a choice?”
Dominic didn’t know the answer to that.
There were no more sightings the rest of Christmas Eve.
On Christmas, as they were having a solemn dinner, another ship was seen. A freighter this time, large on the horizon. But it never came within twenty miles of the island as it kept on a southwesterly course.
Later that night, after Robert checked in with the spotters again and received the all clear, Dominic said, “Maybe we’ve made it through the worst of it.”
“Maybe,” Robert agreed. “But we shouldn’t let our guard down. There’re still going to be people who might see coming out here as a good idea.”
Dominic nodded, knowing his friend was right. But he also knew, if things kept going the way they seemed to be going elsewhere in the world, the chance of another boat showing up was going to decrease rapidly as each new day came.
There would be no one left to make the trip.
December 26th
World Population
5,844,029,917
Change
— 1,321,588,536
12
So far, estimates indicated that at least two and a half billion people had been infected with the KV-27a virus, with a substantial proportion already having succumbed. Since that was a bit ahead of schedule, Perez had been concerned that the virus might burn itself out before the desired level of elimination had occurred, but the lead Project Eden scientists assured him that humanity had already reached a tipping point, and there would be no turning back. By the time the plague had run its course, over ninety-nine percent of the human race would be gone.