“Are you familiar with driving a fishing boat of this size?” Andino asked.
Lacey chuckled. “My dad has a Hatteras that’s slightly shorter. He let me drive a few times, like, oh, fifteen years ago.”
Andino laughed and nodded. “May I take the helm? This is similar to the vessels we sail in our sponging operation.”
Lacey smiled and stepped aside. She allowed Andino to peruse the boat’s controls and check its gauges. He jutted out his lip and nodded repeatedly, indicating he was comfortable with what he was seeing. Then he reached over his head to turn on the boat’s marine radio. He slowly scanned through the channels but scowled when he received nothing but static.
Lacey spoke while he assessed their electronics. “We have a two-way radio, or actually, it’s a ham radio given to us by a friend. We tried it a few times when driving to Bay St. Louis but never could reach anybody.”
“We’ll try it again later,” said Andino. “Let me chart our course for Tarpon Springs, using a steady pace to conserve fuel. I’ll do some calculations to ensure you can make it to the Keys. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect,” responded Lacey, who then turned to Andino’s wife and daughter. “Are you guys interested in checking out the galley? I’m starving.”
Andino’s daughter shyly nodded her head. She’d seen everything unfold on the dock and would likely never get it out of her mind. The three women went into the galley, leaving Tucker and Andino alone together at the boat’s helm.
“Are you a sailor?” asked Andino.
“No. I’m more into hiking, camping, and snowboarding.”
Andino sensed a sadness in Tucker. “I guess you’ve seen a lot on the road, huh?”
Tucker grimaced and nodded. “My dad died.” He just blurted out the words. He wasn’t looking for sympathy. It was simply a natural reaction to recalling what they’d endured since they’d left their home in Hayward.
Andino continued to study the GPS and looked toward the dark water off the stern. It was a response he hadn’t expected.
“I’m sorry, Tucker. This is not the kind of life any of us expected to endure. Would you like to talk about it?”
Tucker rolled his head around his shoulders and then sighed. “No, thanks. Not really. The thing is, it happened so fast and unexpectedly. We had people who were really trying to help, but Dad had suffered too much. Mom and I are just trying to get to my grandpa’s so we can figure it all out.”
Andino respected Tucker’s wishes, so he changed the subject. “You two will have a lot of sailing ahead of you after you drop us off in Tarpon Springs. Your mom can’t do it alone, you know?”
Tucker agreed, and then he picked up on Andino’s subtle suggestion. “Will you teach me what you can about this boat and how to drive it?”
Andino patted Tucker on the back and studied his face for a moment. A boy becomes a man when a man is needed. It was Tucker’s time.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wednesday, November 6
Overseas Highway at Jewfish Creek
Florida Keys
The concrete girder bridge that crossed Jewish Creek rose sixty-five feet above the water. Until it didn’t. The strategically placed TNT explosives at the base of the bridge supports effectively knocked the legs out from under the giant, causing it to separate where the steel beams were welded. The side and median barriers across the bridge, which had been painted Belize Blue upon the recommendation of famed marine artist Robert Wyland, crumbled and then sailed into the water below.
As did the dozen or so refugees who’d raced ahead of Jimmy and a hobbled Peter. It was Peter’s injury, which took away his normal fleetness afoot, that saved his life. Jimmy, on the other hand, wasn’t safe.
The blast below the bridge caused the entire structure to shudder as the massive force rolled through the structure. Both men were thrown upward. Peter fell hard on the concrete with his right arm hanging over the edge and his face staring into the dark abyss below.
Jimmy was gone.
Peter jerked himself away from the edge and rose onto his knees. The concussive blast caused his ears to ring and blurred his vision, not that he could see far in the darkness anyway. Smoke and debris floated in the air as the wind currents along the creek forced the lightweight material upward. Behind him, the shock wave toppled over the temporary lighting, causing beams of light to point in multiple directions. The frightened wave of refugees had turned around as the blast chased them off the end of the bridge and back toward the mainland.
Peter stood and called out his friend’s name. He repeated it over and over again until he was begging for Jimmy to answer.
Then he heard it. Faint, at first. Muted by the shouting of the refugees. A voice.
Peter dropped to his knees and carefully crawled to the edge of the bridge to look over. His chest was heaving from the anxiety of staring into the black space. He hollered again.
“Jimmy!”
“Down here! Peter, I don’t know if I can hold on!”
Peter remembered he had one of the tactical flashlights in his cargo pants pocket. He ripped open the Velcro flap and retrieved it. After nervously turning the flashlight in his hands so he could press the rear button, he illuminated it and began to scan the side of the bridge structure that had been left exposed by the blast.
The concrete box girders had crumbled apart, as the weight of the structure was too much once the foundation supports had been blown apart. With the highway’s load transferred to the girders, absent the concrete and steel foundation, gravity had pulled the structure into the creek.
The bridge’s deck, the roadway itself, had been ripped apart in a fairly straight line from one side to the other. Concrete and rebar were exposed in addition to parts of the girders. Peter hastily shined his light along the edge of the bridge in search of Jimmy. His eyes grew wide, and he gulped when he found him.
Jimmy was hanging on to a twisted piece of steel rebar that jutted out of the concrete roadbed, which continued to crumble. Bits of concrete were breaking off and falling sixty-five feet into the creek, a distance far enough away that the splash couldn’t be heard.
“I can’t do this much longer,” said Jimmy in a remarkably calm voice. “Can you see the water below? Can I drop?”
Peter shook his head rapidly from side to side, knowing full well Jimmy couldn’t see him. Not only could he not see the murky waters below, but it was also too dangerous to even consider. He had to bring Jimmy back up somehow.
His first inclination was to find help. He quickly glanced around and used his flashlight to search out anyone who could hold his legs while he reached down to grasp Jimmy’s hands. Everyone had fled in fear the bridge would collapse further.
It just might, Peter thought to himself, but he had to do something. He turned around and lay on his belly, inching over the edge more and more until he could see better. He continued to shine the light against the torn-open side of the bridge. Rebar was jutting out in a variety of twists and bends.
“Jimmy! Can you reach the curved piece of rebar to your right? Do you see it?”
Peter shined the light on a piece that been bent at an upward angle to create a hook. Jimmy continued to hold on with one arm. He was facing away from Peter toward the other side, making it difficult for him to see the ripped-apart side of the bridge.