“That’s right.”

  “So, I’d be pretty foolish to go toe-to-toe with him. So, I don’t think I’m going to do that.”

  “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  “Thank you,” he said and stepped back away from the cleat. “I wish I could say the same about you.” Jerry returned to the previous cleat and began untying the line.

  The handler tried to follow but, as soon as he tried to move, he realized Jerry had tied his boot to the boat. The panic was instantaneous, but he did his best to keep his cool. He looked at the knot but knew right away that it was far too complex to untie without at least a few moments of study and the Boy Scout Handbook. “Um, Champ?” he called with a hint of nervousness in voice.

  “Bitch, are we going or what?” the bare-knuckled bastard shouted.

  “I knew it,” Jerry chuckled. “You are his little bitch.”

  “You son of a bitch!” The man drew a knife. He dropped to his knees and began sawing at the rope.

  Jerry stepped over to the cabin and fired up the engines. He pushed the throttles forward and the Boomer lurched forward into the marina.

  The Champ’s handler yelped as he was pulled into the muddy Mississippi by his heels.

  Jerry pulled a large khukuri from next to the captain’s seat and started toward the stern of the boat to cut the man loose. He hadn’t taken three steps when Eve pulled her own knife and cut the rope. She smiled at him as she sheathed the knife and moved back to her seat.

  “Thank you, Ms. Eve.” Jerry smiled back and placed his own knife back beside the pilot’s chair.

  She only nodded in response.

  “Next stop, Louisiana.” He sat down and turned the boat away from the marina and into the middle of the Mississippi River.

  4

  Aside from some swearing and fist shaking, the Champ and his entourage did little to pursue the Boomer. Most of the passengers were still busy pretending the incident never occurred and searched the riverbank for something interesting to talk about. But there was nothing. Anything left along the banks that had been spared by the apocalypse had been taken by an unmanaged river. So they stared at the water until they were well out of view of the Champ.

  A low-grade excitement eventually began to overtake the passengers. Movement often had that effect. Progress was always welcomed in the new world, and it had been stifled for so long that even a simple boat ride stirred the soul.

  Not that the Boomer was a simple boat. Sabre had called it the 42 Salon Express before the collapse of yachting clubs and society in general. It was 42 feet long and slept four comfortably in the cabins below deck before he gutted the guest berth for storage. It wasn’t extravagant as far as yachts went, but it was more than a step above Huck Finn’s raft. He could close the main cabin against the elements, and there were plenty of places for his passengers to sit out the ride downriver.

  And it was hardly the biggest boat on the river. When shopping for a boat became less an issue of cost and more an issue of “finders keepers,” the navigable depth became the only number most would-be captains paid attention to.

  Several of the larger boats were approaching him from downriver on their way to Hannibal. Three of them were massive houseboats. These floating hotels weren’t an uncommon sight on the river. Many captains chose these to capture their passengers’ transport and lodging fees. But they took a larger crew to man and defend, and Jerry was more than willing to trade size for a little more speed and a good deal more solitude. The Boomer had more than enough room for himself, Chewy and a few passengers when they were in the mood to take on guests.

  Even now, the passengers had spread out around the boat, leaving him to pilot the craft.

  Laura and Eve shared a bench at the rear of the boat. The older woman talked about meeting her grandchildren and showed Eve the crumpled letter over and over.

  Her husband struck up a conversation with Dalton as the two men leaned on the railing that surrounded the bow. Jerry focused on pointing the boat downriver and did his best to ignore what was happening in the cabin.

  The young man was snoring, having passed out at the kitchen table. Chewy was snoring. And the Great Dane was snoring. And not one of the three was in sync with the other. But none of that was as grating as the actor and his assistant running lines behind him. He wasn’t sure what the movie was about, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to see it.

  “You did this,” Lana read from the script.

  Caine set his copy down. “Really?”

  Lana checked her page. “Is that not the line?”

  “Oh, it’s the line. But what am I supposed to do with that?”

  Lana looked further down the page. “You’re supposed to say, ‘I did what I had to.’”

  “I know my line, Lana. But how am I supposed to read it with any kind of passion when you’re reading your line like that?”

  “I’m sorry. How did you want me to read it?”

  “Oh, I dunno, you could read it like it’s got an exclamation point at the end of it maybe.”

  “Oh, okay. ‘You did this!’” she said, with enough volume to make the Great Dane skip a snore.

  “An exclamation isn’t just about volume, Lana. It’s about feeling.”

  “How should I be feeling?”

  “No, read the line with feeling. Get mad. You’re accusing me of something. Hit the table.” Caine smacked the table with a fist.

  Lana hit the table with her own fist. “You did this!”

  “Don’t hit it before the line. Hit it after the line!”

  “You did this!” Lana screamed, and hit the table.

  “Yes!” Caine said. “Now let’s do it again.”

  Lana repeated her performance, and Caine sank back into character. He stood up and pointed at Lana and said, “Shit, I forgot my line.” He turned back to the script to find the line as Lana stepped out of the cabin.

  “I need to get some air,” she said, and slid the door closed behind her.

  Thomas Caine suddenly found himself alone. Maybe he abhorred silence or just loved the sound of his own voice, but he didn’t let the quiet last for long.

  “What do you think of the script, Boatman?”

  “Call me Mike,” Jerry said. “I’m sorry, I can’t say. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  Caine took the copilot seat next to him and started flipping through the pages. “I’m really excited about this. It’s something really different for me.”

  “Not another Librarian movie?”

  The actor took a heavy breath. “Not this one. I kind of need a break from playing that guy. You know what I mean?”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  Caine wasn’t listening. “I mean, how could you know? You’re just a boatman. No offense. Most people don’t know what it’s like to have to live up to those kinds of expectations.”

  “I imagine they don’t.”

  “I mean, it’s great and all. I’m grateful for the opportunity. And it really introduced me to the people. But I think I’m ready to be someone else for a while.” He waved the script in his hand. “You probably can’t understand that either.”

  “How could I? I’m just a boatman.”

  “Yeah,” Caine agreed and looked out the window. “It must be nice. Just moving up and down the river as you please. No responsibilities.”

  “I’m responsible for everyone on this boat.”

  “Yeah, but no expectations.”

  “I imagine you expect to make it to Cairo in one piece.”

  Caine smiled and slapped Jerry on the shoulder with the script. “You know what I’m saying.”

  Jerry did indeed know what Caine was saying, but he wasn’t sure Caine understood anything at all. One thing he knew for sure is that it wasn’t worth getting into, so he started playing with some dead switches on the console to look busy.

  Caine smiled, swatted him with the script again and stepped outside.

  It wasn’t long before the small talk ended, and everyone cast their gaze upon the river itself. Even the dogs woke up and focused on the water, until the idea of a nap occurred to all three of them.

  If you stared long enough at the muddy water, it became difficult to tell not only which way the water was flowing, but also if you were making any progress at all. River travel was certainly nothing new, but since people hadn’t truly experienced it before the end of the world, no one was really sure what to make of it.

  They probably pictured speedboats flying across the water, throwing wake against both shores as their engines screamed. But it was a steady crawl around bend after bend that rocked you into a state of impatience.

  Jerry was expecting the first “Are we there yet?” when Eve stepped into the cabin.

  “If I ask, are you going to threaten to turn this boat around?” she said with a smile as she took the seat next to him.

  “It’s not quite the superhighway everyone expects,” he said. “Although I’m not quite sure where they get that idea in the first place.”

  “It’s certainly not fast.”

  “No,” Jerry agreed. “It’s certainly not.”

  “But it is peaceful,” she said, looking out over the water.

  “Yes, it is that.”

  “Provided you’re not picking a fight with the heavyweight champion.”

  “Well, sometimes it can’t be avoided.” They shared a smile. “Thank you for having my back.”

  She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. “What makes you think I had your back?”

  Jerry pulled the knife from its sheath on the gunwale. He flipped the blade over and tapped the shirt at Eve’s waist with the handle. There was the click of plastic on metal. “I know where you’re keeping at least one other. And I could make a fairly confident guess at a third.”

  Her chuckle was genuine, but she ended it quickly and dismissed his assumptions. “It’s Armageddon. Everyone’s packing.”

  “Fair enough. But you’re smart enough to keep ‘em guessing.” They came around another bend in the river, and for the first time there was more than muddy shores in view. A dock system stretched into the river from the western shore, and the wooden structures were just as bustling as the ones back in Hannibal.

  Jerry turned the wheel slightly to starboard and stepped down to the lower level of the Boomer. He ducked into the storage bay and reemerged a moment later with a canvas bag that he set on a counter.

  Eve picked up the bag and studied it. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “You’re a freaking mailman?”

  “Speedy delivery.” Jerry tipped an imaginary hat and turned the boat toward the dock. He pulled back on the throttles, and it wasn’t a moment later that Dalton was in the cabin with them.

  “Are we slowing down? Why are we slowing down?”

  Jerry pointed at the mailbag. “I’ve got a delivery to make.”

  “You’re not serious,” Dalton groaned like a child. “We’re never going to get to Cairo.”

  “We’ll get there,” Eve said.

  Dalton huffed and left the cabin, complaining to everyone he encountered.

  “See? You had my back again,” Jerry said.

  Eve smiled and joined the others back on the deck.

  The Boomer pulled alongside the dock, where a man from the town threw Jerry a rope and a mock salute. “Good morning, Captain Mike. “

  “Good morning, Harbormaster Brandt.”

  Brandt laughed. “I like the way you kid, Mike. Harbormaster sure does sound good.”

  Jerry got the rope squared away and tossed the canvas bag up to Brandt. The man snagged it out of the air with one hand.

  “Where’s this batch from?” Brandt asked.

  “I’m not telling you,” Jerry said.

  “You can tell me,” Brandt said, and shook the bag, prompting Mike to answer.

  “No,” Jerry said flatly. “You’ll do the thing and I hate the thing.”

  “I won’t do the thing,” Brandt said, and raised his hand in what he must have thought was scout’s honor. “I swear I won’t do the thing.”

  Jerry knew he was going to do it, but he humored the Louisiana man anyway. “That is the mail from Hannibal.”

  Brandt lowered the bag. “I’ll have your liver with some father beans and a nice Chianti,” Brandt said, and then slurped at the air.

  The writing was shit, but Jerry had to admit the impression wasn’t bad. As far as he could remember anyway. He hadn’t seen Silence of the Lambs since long before the end of the world. He smiled as he shook his head. “It’s fava. Fava beans, Brandt.”

  “It’s father, Mike. And if I ever find a copy of it, we’ll sit down together, and I’ll prove that I’m right.” Brandt threw Jerry a mailbag almost identical to the first.

  “That wasn’t bad,” Caine said, appearing next to Jerry. “But it is fava. And I should know, I’m an actor.”

  “An actor?”

  Caine straightened up and stuck out his hand. “Thomas Caine.”

  “So, if you’re an actor, you have a better memory or something?”

  “No, I just know the part. It was a great performance.”

  “Thank you,” Brandt said. “That’s why I do it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, this is mail business,” Brandt said, and waved for Jerry to move away from the actor.

  Jerry complied. “Any news for me to take downriver?”

  Brandt nodded. “A group of raiders struck out near where Auxvassie used to be.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “No. That’s why it’s news. It’s a new group but they were really old school about it, you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, they were really disorganized. They were wearing junk for armor. One guy apparently had tires on for shoulder pads. I mean, who does that anymore? I thought that shit went the way of Invictus.”

  “Maybe they’re sentimental.”

  “I don’t know. Seemed a little over the top to me. But they left their mark all over the place. Weird symbols and all that. They gave the townsfolk quite a scare. I guess it’s worth passing on down the river. Other than that, there’s not really anything happening except the—oh, that reminds me.” Brandt scrambled up the dock to a shaded booth and returned a moment later with a handful of flyers. “The town’s having our fifth second anniversary.”

  “Fifth second anniversary?”

  “Right, it’s the fifth year since we came back the second time.”

  “Shouldn’t that be your second fifth anniversary?”

  “Look, don’t give me any shit about the math, okay. It wasn’t my idea. But we’re throwing a big party and we’d love it if you could spread the news along the line. We’re going to have a parade, and some of the guys dug up and patched up a bounce house for the kids. And we’re going to have an appearance from the Momo Monster.”

  “The what?”

  “Come on, man. He’s Missouri’s Bigfoot. You have to have heard of him. He’s the town of Louisiana’s pride and joy.”

  “Sorry, Brandt. Never heard of it.”

  “Larry’s going to wear the costume. You know him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “The tall guy?”

  “No.”

  “They call him Tall Larry.”

  “Pretty sure I’ve never met him.”

  “Well, you’d know if you did.”

  “Because he’s so tall?” Jerry guessed.

  “Yeah, because he’s so tall. Anyway, it’s all in the flyer. Well, not the part about Tall Larry, we don’t want to ruin the illusion. But everything else is in there, so pass them out if you don’t mind.”

  “I will pass them out and I’ll do my part to make this the biggest fifth second anniversary ever.” Jerry tucked the stack of flyers into the mailbag and turned back to the cabin. “I’ll see you in a few days, Harbormaster.”

  “Maybe you will and maybe you won’t.” Brandt waved Jerry closer, and the boatman complied. “I’m not telling this to just anybody, but I feel we know each other pretty well, Mike. I’m about to make my big move. I’m not going to be a mailman anymore. I’ve got a sure-fire plan. You know what they sell more of here than just about anything?”

  “I don’t know, Brandt. Fuel?”

  “Water,” he said with a sly smile. “It doesn’t matter if they’re coming from upstream or down, people get thirsty. So I’ve carved out a little piece of land just upriver where I’m going to build my own dock. I’ll sell everyone water before they even get here.”

  “Do you think they buy it here because they’re stopping here anyway?”

  “I thought about that. So I’m going to sell it even cheaper than here.”

  “So your big idea is inconveniently located but cheap water?”

  “Well, not cheap, but cheaper. I’ve got to make a profit. But don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  Jerry raised his hand in Brandt’s version of the scout’s honor. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “I knew I could trust you, Mike.”

  Jerry tossed the rope back, gave a final wave and stepped back into the Boomer’s cabin.

  “That was a little odd,” Eve said quietly once he sat the bag down.

  “Well, they spend a lot of time in the sun.”

  “They?”

  “Oh yeah. Brandt’s pretty normal. The postmasters just get weirder the farther we go.”

  “Hey, Boatman!” Dalton said as he stomped into the cabin. “We’re not going to be stopping at every little Podunk town on the river, are we?”

  “Don’t you worry, Mr. Dalton. We’ve accounted for the mail stops. We’ll get you to Cairo on time.”

  * * *

  In Clarksville, the postmaster performed a poor rendition of Louisiana Saturday Night before she accepted the mailbag. Unlike Brandt’s Lecter, it wasn’t even close to being a decent impression. But Caine commended the performance, introduced himself and asked if there was a theater in town. The woman ignored Caine, mentioned the raids and asked that Mike spread the news about the upcoming Clarksville Day in the Parkville celebration.

  “Day in the Parkville?” Jerry asked.