Spencer gazed out at the tranquil black expanse of ocean, where the only noticeable disturbance was the frothy wake trailing behind the boat. The eastern horizon glowed with striking hues of deep orange and crimson highlights among the gathering Cirrus clouds, suggesting that the upcoming day might hold a few surprises. Spencer recognized that such atmospheric phenomena were often indicative of unfavorable weather ahead, but he wasn’t overly concerned. Besides, a hearty downpour might actually benefit the boat, washing away the accumulated dust and grime.

  The dawning of the third day since the disaster that turned their lives upside down was a bittersweet event. On the one hand, they were still alive and in pretty decent shape. Better than most, he imagined. They had an operational vessel that doubled as a home, food, water, and their health, for the most part. Conversely, he found it equally discouraging that this much time had passed and he was still this far away from Kate.

  Spencer gingerly rubbed at the gash on the back of his arm from the piece of rebar he’d encountered while rescuing Maya from the resort wreckage. The wound on his forearm hurt as well but paled in comparison to the more serious injury. He made a mental note to have Nat take a look at it sometime this morning. It was sore, and as much as he didn’t want to aggravate the laceration further, it needed attention.

  He couldn’t complain, though. He did have someone competent on board to tend to the damage he’d done to himself and make sure the wounds didn’t develop into anything worse. Kate would have been happy to know that. He wondered what she was doing at this very moment as he stared off into the budding light of a new morning. There was no way of knowing for sure, but he was certain she was doing as well as could be expected. He felt that in his bones. She was resilient, and she was a fighter when she had to be. But this? Spencer turned in place, eyeing the horizon over the bow of the boat. This was bigger than anything they’d ever faced.

  In contrast to his eastern view, the sky over Florida was dark, not yet bathed fully in the colorful glow of the rising sun. It was almost ominous. But it wasn’t just the lack of morning light causing the murky, gray blend of colors to seem as if they were bleeding upward from the water’s surface into the atmosphere. The bombs had changed things. The air was choked with particulate and smoke from the fires. They’d gotten a small taste of it during their escape from the Keys. The magnitude of the fallout from such a catastrophic event on the mainland would be multiplied many times over from what they saw in Marathon.

  The foul air wasn’t present way out here off the coast, but Spencer could clearly see it. He’d noticed the abnormal darkness off the bow all night. The lack of stars in the western sky told of the conditions on land. His nostrils burned at the mere thought of it. And they were heading right back into it. Spencer chose instead to focus on the 145 miles that separated him from his objective. Things would get a lot worse before they got any better. The sooner he made peace with that, the more content he would be.

  Worrying about what-ifs wouldn’t change anything, and it wouldn’t get him to Stuart any faster. If anything, the constant stress over whether or not he was doing enough—or doing it fast enough or well enough—would tear him apart and likely hinder his progress. And with the dawn of a new day, it was time to put his mother’s advice into practice.

  He drew in a thoughtful breath of fresh, salty air and did his best to let go of the anxiety he was harboring as he blew it out. He’d put on a happy face, or at least a pleasant face, for his crew—and especially Maya.

  “Positive vibes,” he whispered as he made his way back inside the pilothouse.

  Spencer left the door open, latching it in place so it wouldn’t swing with the gentle rocking of the boat. He crammed a few more things into his trash bag and tied a knot at the top, placing it outside on the rear deck and out of his way. The place looked better already, and with the increasing natural light, Spencer could extinguish the pilothouse light. The dim red lamp was good for maintaining low visibility, but too much time spent in it could drive a man crazy.

  Woken by the first tentacles of light to find their way inside the cabin, Finn stretched his paws out in front of his body and stuck his butt into the air toward Ciro.

  “Good morning.” If Spencer was going to be upbeat today, he might as well start now.

  Finn wagged his tail at the sound of Spencer’s voice and walked to the edge of the elevated couch so they were eye to eye.

  Spencer leaned into Finn until their foreheads met. “It’s a new day, buddy. We’re going to find Momma.”

  Finn pulled his head back in excitement, tilting it to the side, then whined and spun around once completely in his excitement.

  Spencer regretted his comment immediately. “It’s gonna be a while, so don’t get too excited yet.” He rubbed the dog’s head roughly. “How about some breakfast?”

  Finn stopped panting and his smile dissolved. There were few things the dog took more seriously than an invitation to eat, and that’s what Spencer was counting on.

  “Awk… awk.” The activity woke Ciro, who let them know with a couple of throaty calls and some energetic head bobbing.

  Spencer didn’t waste any time filling Ciro’s bowl with a handful of seed and corn from the bag.

  “You probably want some water, too, huh?” He picked up the empty bowl from the base of the bird’s hanging perch and noticed a brown liquid at the bottom.

  One whiff confirmed that Ciro had been consuming rum at some point. Whether it was by choice or as a result of the cruelty inflicted by his previous owner, Spencer couldn’t be sure.

  “No wonder you’re so cranky.”

  Spencer splashed some water from his bottle into the dish and swirled it around before tossing the contents out the open door. He refilled the bird’s bowl with fresh water and set it back in place. The raven abandoned his feed and migrated swiftly across his perch, drinking nonstop until there was hardly any left.

  “That’s better, isn’t it? Maybe you’ll be a little nicer now or at least a little quieter.” Spencer topped the bowl off and backed away, leaving the bird to man the helm.

  The autopilot was still performing as it should, and there wasn’t another boat in sight. That wasn’t the case last night and then again early this morning. The sightings amounted to nothing more than distant lights on the horizon and small green blips on the radar, which Spencer used to ensure they kept their distance and avoided contact.

  Evading the other boats had cost them some time and required a few temporary course changes, but those were concessions well worth the trouble, in Spencer’s opinion. He aimed to reach Stuart as fast as possible, yet another encounter akin to yesterday’s skirmish with the pirates would negate any gains in time—or cause even bigger problems.

  Spencer glassed the horizon once more with his gyro-stabilized binoculars, although he left the gyroscopic function turned off. The rocking of the boat was at a minimum in the following seas. The sub-one-foot wavelets and the four- to six-knot wind at their stern were hardly enough to get the heavy trawler’s attention. But there was another reason to forgo the luxurious feature on his binoculars; Spencer was trying to conserve the batteries. He had more—plenty, in fact—to repower the device several times, but there was no telling when or if he’d be able to find more. He’d committed to treating this situation like a deployment by conserving consumables, and that applied to everything.

  “All clear.” Spencer completed his 360-degree scan of the horizon and set the binoculars down on the console. He was glad to see the sunrise even though boats were easier to spot at night. He’d have to rely on the radar for the most part. He thought about putting the optics back in their case but decided not to since he’d be wanting another look as soon as he returned topside. But a few minutes down in the galley wouldn’t hurt, and if he was going to power through the day, he’d need some coffee and something to eat. There’d be time for sleep at some point before Stuart, but with the others waking up soon, there was much to discuss.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “She’s all yours, Ciro. Now that’s a scary thought, eh, boy?” Spencer let Finn lead the way down to the main deck rather than risk being passed and possibly knocked over by the anxious dog on the steep, narrow ladder.

  His original intentions were to wait until someone came to relieve him before abandoning his helm duties, but his impatience and waning energy had gotten the best of him. Although he remained skeptical of the Black Bird’s equipment, the autopilot was earning his trust, along with some of the other shipboard systems. There was so much to explore and even more to learn about their new home on the water. Spencer felt a mix of emotions ranging from eagerness and excitement to fear and uncertainty.

  This was a big boat to run with an electrician and an EMT for a crew. A vessel this size in the Coast Guard might have had a crew of ten to fifteen people assigned to her.

  He took the last few steps behind Finn and shook his head. Funny how quickly circumstances had changed. At the onset of their trip, he’d been obsessively worried about housing everyone on the Hunter. The logistics of putting that many people on a thirty-one-foot boat were concerning at best. Just the prospect of adding Kate, her parents, and their semi-spastic black Lab, Roxy, was daunting in itself, and that was only half of it. Sure, they’d be losing Rob, Nat, and Maya eventually. But with any luck, Spencer would add his parents shortly afterward. And of course, he couldn’t forget to include his mom and dad’s new dog.

  Just last week, Spencer’s mom sent him a text announcing the most recent addition to the Hayes family with a short video of Finn’s new brother frolicking in the yard. Ollie was a six-month-old Boxer mix who had proven too much to handle for an older couple Spencer’s mom knew. His parents took the dog in on a trial basis, and the rest was history. Based on the video his mom had sent, Spencer anticipated Ollie being an absolute terror on board a small boat. Thank God the trawler was mostly made out of steel.

  Spencer found the thought of adding people to the crew comforting now that there was room and he needed the help. On his initial boarding of the Black Bird, he’d sped through the vessel’s interior to clear the boat of any threats and ensure it was safe. But from what he’d seen, there was plenty of room for everyone he hoped to add. He’d counted four staterooms or private cabins and at least two heads. The forward hold was primarily set up for storing extra gear and supplies, but if necessary, the space could easily double as an extra berthing area. His attachment to the Hunter made it difficult to admit, but the old trawler was exactly what they needed.

  Spencer stood at the entrance to the galley, imagining how much trouble a young dog could get into in a space this size. The thought was almost enough to make him thankful the Hunter had gone down with dignity rather than becoming an oversized chew toy for a mischievous pup.

  Finn sniffed around the main saloon while Spencer found his way around by trial and error, opening bags, all hastily packed and hauled aboard from the Hunter, until he was able to put together what he needed to brew a pot of coffee. It didn’t take long to set up his Jetboil system. The independent, gas-powered coffee-brewing system was an old standby for when he and Kate camped off-boat on remote islands, as they often had. And for use on board, he’d modified the setup with suction cups attached to the legs, a necessity on a rocking boat. The compact setup wasn’t the only method he had for making coffee. He had a traditional French press as well, plus a normal teapot for boiling water on board the Hunter, but the Jetboil was fast, and he could run the compact unit topside without needing to dip into the galley if he didn’t want to leave the helm. In hindsight, he should have brought the whole thing to the bridge with him initially, but coffee was the last thing on his mind at the time. And with the mini gas burner already lit, he decided to finish what he’d started down here.

  The galley was as disorganized as it was filthy, with a collection of dirty dishes, pots, and utensils piled high in the sink. Spencer had to push the unruly stack to the side just to fill the pot from the tap, scattering a few flies in the process. He swirled the water around the pot and finished his inspection with a quick sniff. The more he looked around, the more he was disgusted by the level of neglect and filth. Maybe it was best that Kate wasn’t here just yet to see this.

  His intentions were to get the place looking tip-top before Kate stepped aboard, but he wasn’t sure that was possible anymore. He definitely wouldn’t have the place looking like he wanted anytime soon, but with the help of the others, they could certainly make a vast improvement to the current state of dereliction.

  Spencer reminded himself to go easy on the young family. They might not share his level of ambition when it came to improving their living conditions. They were planning on parting ways in Jacksonville, after all. Spencer would do his best to temper his eagerness and try not to come off as overbearing, but that would be hard when the necessary improvements were this obvious.

  “I guess we’ll see what our guests are made of today, eh, Finn?” Spencer grabbed the fifteen-gallon plastic tote of dog food he’d dragged aboard from Restless and began to fill Finn’s bowl.

  Finn’s dog food was another resource that wouldn’t last forever. Luckily, Spencer had just topped off the bin with a new bag from Publix, but there was only a couple weeks’ worth of food at best. He held back a little from the normal amount he fed the dog and pulled a fillet of the leftover mahi-mahi from the cooler, crumbling it in his hand and sprinkling it over Finn’s bowl instead. Fish, on the other hand, was a renewable resource, one they would come to rely on heavily, he imagined.

  “Sorry about that. I should have fed you first.” Spencer put the bowl down and let Finn have at it while he washed his hands and turned his attention back to the brewing coffee. Watching the thermal sleeve’s indicator reach the top of the cup, he cut the flame off and waited for the coffee to steep. He’d let it sit longer than normal today, as he needed the brew to be bold and strong, although now that he was down here, he felt rushed. It was easier to have confidence in the autopilot while he was standing at the helm.

  Finn finished his meal in record time, licking the bowl clean of any fragments he might have missed in his haste. Spencer was hungry, too, but there was no way he could afford that much time away from the bridge, not with a clear conscience, anyway. And the galley was in a state of total chaos, not exactly something he wanted to deal with at the moment.

  Spencer pulled the container from the heating element and turned the light off. “Come on, Finn. Let’s get back topside.”

  The coffee could finish brewing on the bridge; he’d been absent long enough already, and thanks to the last couple of days, he was more than a little paranoid about leaving the helm unattended. Spencer skipped every other step on his way back to the bridge despite the steaming-hot cup in his hand. Ciro had taken Spencer’s words to heart, apparently, and was standing on the wheel.

  “All right, Ciro. I’ve got it now.” Spencer tried to motivate the bird toward his perch with a waved hand.

  “Capitán en cubierta,” Ciro squawked and obliged.

  Spencer smiled for a moment, but his lips straightened a second later. Hearing the phrase “captain on deck” gave him a sense of pride as much as it gave him cause for concern, even if it was only the acknowledgment of a rum-drinking raven.

  Spencer eyed the compass, then the plotter, confirming everything was as he’d left it. This was all on him, a scary and sobering thought that took on a life of its own when other people were counting on him. He still felt out of place at the conn of a vessel this size. That was something he might never get used to, although he found the boat handled much like he’d expected, if not a bit more sluggishly. But anyone could steer a boat in open water. The true test of his abilities would come when they were inshore. And the anticipation of navigating tighter, shallower waters was enough to rekindle the uneasy feeling deep in his gut.

  He’d piloted more than a few boats during his short life so far, starting at the age of twelve. A heavily corroded johnboat with an ancient five-horsepower Evinrude was his first delve into boat ownership. He’d bought it with money he’d earned cleaning job sites for his dad’s construction company and some cash from several birthday cards, and he was proud of the dent-pocked, fourteen-foot eyesore. Although the motor proved to be a bigger project than the boat itself, he and his dad brought both up to snuff eventually.

  He used the narrow, aluminum skiff for crabbing, pulling redfish from the shallows on a fly, and joyriding the backwaters of Pamlico Sound and its bordering marshes, much to his mother’s disapproval. She came around in the end but only with the help of his father and because Spencer agreed he’d have to pass a boaters’ safety course before going solo on the flimsy craft. The thought of cruising the sound and salt creeks on a glassy, mirror-smooth morning in the small boat brought another smile to his face. At the time, with the meager five-horsepower outboard maxed out, a scant twenty knots felt more like a hundred. The outings on the johnboat by himself were magical. Spencer’s first taste of real freedom and independence, something he’d never forget.

  He’d been through his share of craft since those days, working his way up to a twenty-foot Shamrock center console in high school. He’d even briefly stood at the helm of the 110-foot Island-class cutter he was attached to temporarily in the Coast Guard. But there was a safety net of higher-ups and more experienced crewmen standing by. That wasn’t the case here, and no matter how unqualified he felt, there was no one to step in and fix his mistakes or save him from his own ignorance when it came to running a vessel of this size.

  This was by far the biggest boat he’d ever been responsible for, and that was something he was having a hard time accepting. Spencer wasn’t sure there would ever come a time when it felt like this vessel belonged to him, but for all intents and purposes, this was his boat now. Or was it theirs? If Rob and Nat wanted a stake in the Black Bird, he’d happily share the responsibility.