• Published 26th Feb 2021
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Tidalverse: The Fearsome Foursome - Alden MacManx



Four life-long friends go fishing one fine late spring morning. The Event happens. Now what?

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Chapter 18: To Mobile and Beyond!

“Ship’s log, Stardate 1604.18, 0930 hours, Security Officer Foster Hardegan, deck officer under instruction, recording.

“We left North Point outpost an hour and a half ago, heading down the Atchafalaya River to the coast. We are doing our best to map the area as we go, seein’ as nobody’s done come down this way yet. One thing fo’ shuah, it ain’t nothin’ like the maps from befoah! The river up heah is much wider, somewhat deeper, and a whole lot faster than befoah Marie took the diversion dam down.

“I told the captain this heah boat is not too far off from the patrol boat we had in Rapides Parish, but ah can’t blame him fo’ wantin’ to supervise mah first day. He’s upstairs, just watchin. Fran showed me the computer here. It’s better than what we used, but ah had little trouble figurin’ it out. Just glad she walked me through it.

“Sandra, ah’ll be happy to schedule an interview tomorrow, when ah’m not on watch. Raht now, I got me a ship to learn how to run!”

Meanwhile, on the bridge, Frick was enjoying the cool, clean air, watching the territory. “Captain’s log, stardate 1604.18, 0930 hours. Finally, on our way to the sea. Frack and Freida are out hunting to replenish our meat stocks, Fran is fishing, Fred is napping and Foster’s below in the pilothouse. I trust him there.

“According to the maps, it’s about a hundred twenty miles to the Gulf of Mexico. With this current, and taking it easy, I’ll say two days, maybe three. One thing I have been noticing is all the damage here. There’s a road to the southeast, according to the map. Thing is, I can’t see it. Pretty soon, we’ll come to a couple of bridges. If they’re down, then I would think the odds of finding anything intact along this river are pretty much slim to none. For what I know, new rivers can get a little rambunctious.

“Once we get to the Gulf, we’re going to anchor in a quiet spot for however long it takes for all of us on board to learn the navigation system well enough to use the waypoint navigation system! Having to come down this way not only adds more miles, we have to detour around Louisiana and Mississippi to get to where we can city-hop again. We’ll try to keep the shoreline in sight, but we know for sure not to count on that. Good thing about having six on board, we can keep four-hour watches with a dog watch so we’re not stuck with the same shifts all the time. We’re still gonna have to hot-bunk now, Frack, Fran, Foster and I. Good thing Foster’s possessions fit into a set of saddlebags. We’re running out of room here!”

Frick chuckled a bit. He felt the ship turn a bit to port and the engines slowing some. He looked up. “Uh, oh… both bridges here are down here in the little town of Simmesport. Foster has the sense to slow down as we approach. Time to check to see if this sonar rig will help. I’ll send this when I can. Deliverance out.”

Frick activated the fish-finder sonar, aiming ahead. After studying the readout, he activated the intercom to the pilothouse. “Foster, pull up the sonar screen and aim for the deep spots. Bridges are down and I can see bits poking out of the water.”

“Will do, Captain. Okay, got it up. I see where to go. You want control?” Foster asked.

“If you scrape the paint, I’ll use your blood in the paint mix! Otherwise, you know what to do!”

Foster laughed. “Ah got that, Captain!”


“Captain’s log, stardate 1604.21, 0630 hours, Captain Frick recording.

“We made the Gulf mid-afternoon yesterday, but held off our setting out until today. The waters were a bit stirred up after a storm, and we thought it prudent to wait until the waves settled. We have about three hundred miles to go before reaching Mobile, and we’re planning on taking it in two jumps, getting to the old mouth of the Mississippi before nightfall, then sprinting again the next day for Mobile Bay. Fred will have the watch starting at 0800, which is when we will set off. I may be the Captain, but I’m not shirking my time on duty, even if I get the oh-four to oh-eight watch. Tomorrow, I’ll have the midnight to four. Oh, yippee skippie.

“Coming down the Atchafalaya, all I can say is that it will make a semi-decent shipping route, but I would not send a large ship up. Every single bridge we went by was down, every village, town and city in ruins, and more debris than I even want to think about strewn on shorelines, in eddies, and just about every place yet. Honestly, Captain Prateek, I would not send much more than a tugboat and barge up this way. Maybe if you made a base in Mobile and tried checking train routes to Memphis, you may be better off. Then again, what do I know?

“Speaking of trains, I got a call yesterday from Stella DeMarco, the Memphis team leader. She told me they found a service engine in the Memphis train yard, and her team should have it running in about a month, give or take. You may want to get with her and see about them blazing a trail to Mobile.

“Sun coming up over the water… unusual sight, for us landlubber inland Nebraskans. Just one of the unusual sights for us to see. What the…”

Some unusual noises were heard, like something was thumping on the hull of the boat, the pilothouse door getting thrown open, some very interesting, loud and perfectly clear swearing in French, followed by a loud WHOOM sound, some splashing, then silence. Hoofbeats were heard, along with some indistinct moaning. More noises were heard, then a voice on the mic.

“Frick was recording, I see. Well, this is Tech Officer Vasquez. Some very large fishlike being made some lunges at the boat, waking everyone up. What got everyone’s attention was when Frick blasted the thing with his horn. Blew a hole right through the thing's head. It’s still out there twitching. Freida’s looking after the captain now. He’ll probably sleep through the day. Good thing we got the waypoint data already entered into the computer and all set to go. Let me do the send and save now, and get back to checking the boat over. We took a couple of good thumps. Of all the times to want a hippogriff… End record.”

Fran did the send and save, then began a shipwide status check. In the saloon, Fred took charge, sending Frack and Foster to do an inspection of the boat to check for cracks and leaks. Foster did the walkdown while Frack took wing and did a slow inspection of the waterline. Seeing Fran in the pilothouse, Fred went to Freida. “How is he?” he asked.

“You tell me, you’re the healer. I’m just the EMT,” Freida said, some crabbiness evident. Sudden wake-ups have never been something she liked.

“Go make some fresh coffee, Maw. You need it,” Fred said as he touched Frick’s hoof with his own. “He’s just exhausted, like last time. Hope this char on his horn doesn’t mean much.” He wiped Frick’s horn with a dishrag. It cleaned up easily. “Looks like you should trim his mane back. He’s burned part of it.”

“Sounded like he pumped some serious amps through it, Paw. Just what is that thing he blasted?”

“God only knows, because I don’t. Looks like a cross between a seal and a shark. There’s only one thing I’m certain of, Maw.” Fred said quietly as he put the towel back on its hook.

“What’s that, Paw?”

“It’s dead.”


Frack and Foster came back to the saloon about ten minutes later, reporting the only problem they found was in the auxiliary fuel tank feed line, a fitting had come loose and spilled a little diesel, maybe a pint at most. “Ah got it back tight. Ain’t leakin’ now.” Foster concluded his report.

“Hull’s sound, no cracks I could see, I’ll do a below-decks inspection, see if there’s anything pooling in the bilges,” Frack added.

“You do that, Frack. Foster, please put the Captain to bed, then get some rest yourself, unless you would like some breakfast,” Fred told the two.

“Ah’ll come up fo’ some coffee, maybe some toast. Once ah’s sure of which bunk ah can crash in, then I’ll take a nap,” Foster said as he picked Frick’s limp sleeping form up in his golden glow.

Fred sat and thought as Freida put her bag up and started breakfast. “What’s on your mind, Paw?” she asked as she mixed up some waffle batter.
“Debating on if we should stick to the timetable or shove off now. I really don’t like having that thing drifting next to the boat,” Fred said quietly.

Freida stopped mixing the batter and poured some hot water into a teacup before adding a bag. “Orange Zinger. It will help you think. Would you like some advice?” she said as she gave him the cup.

“From you, always,” Fred said as he took the cup. “What do you have in mind?”

“Photograph and video the thing from as many angles as we can, send the pics off to Maasvlakte, then get out of the frying pan before the oil lights up. Got it?”

Fred put the cup down on the saloon table. “Good idea, Maw. Why didn’t I think of that? The tea should be ready by the time I get back,” he said as he got up.

“Overdone is more like it,” Freida said as she took the cup and set it on the galley counter, so she could watch it.

Fred relieved Fran in the pilothouse, directing her to video the critter while he raised anchor and activated the ship’s autopilot. He input one change, to leave the bay at five knots, going to twelve knots once out of the bay and on course to the first waypoint.

When the video was complete, Fran uploaded it to Rotterdam and the WSU before going to take a nap, using the big bed because Foster was using hers. Fred remained at the conn, his shift running from eight until noon, when Freida would take over. He just hoped that Frick would be able to take over when his turn came up next, at midnight.

At quarter after ten, the phone rang. Not a personal phone, the ship’s phone. Using a stylus, Fred accepted the call, on speaker. “Deliverance, First Officer Fred speaking. How may we help you?” he said. Old habits die hard. Very hard.

“Fred, this is Captain Prateek. Please report the ship's status,” came from the speaker.

“Underway on diesels, on course to waypoint one, making turns for twelve knots. Sea state has moderate swells, to us. Waves are not breaking over the bow. We should be arriving at Destination One by five p.m., if I’m reading this right,” Fred reported as best he knew how.

“How is Frick doing? Still unconscious?” Dilip asked.

“I will check on him when I get off watch at noon, Captain. All I read from him before is exhaustion. That’s the second time he’s uncorked the big gun. Drains him big time.”

“Okay. We’ve had a chance to review the log entry and the video you sent to us. What you killed does bear similarities to something the Fugro Symphony encountered in Brazil late last year. Not identical, but there are some traits in common. That means Charybdis has agents in your neighborhood. May it not get a report off.”

“Charybdis? Who is that?” Fred asked.

Dilip’s sigh was audible over the phone connection. “Charybdis is not a who, it is a what. A demon with much black magic associated with it. I presume you encountered a scout. May you never run into anything bigger. Your fifty-caliber rifle will be as effective as a child's toy darts gun against one of Charybdis’ larger minions. I will send you a detailed report of what we know about Charybdis via email. Any damage to the boat?”

“Trifling, Captain. Quickly repaired, no leaks evident in the hull. It did bump against us while we were at anchor, but no damage was noted to the hull. I take it you would like us to report if we see something similar?” Fred asked.

“Yes, to the Duty Officer. If Charybdis is seriously nosing about over there, we need to know. May you not attract its interest. Just keep sending your log entries, Sandra will boil them down. If it’s urgent, like an unusual sighting, phone my Duty Officer. Meanwhile, I’m going over the treaty in detail. I’m glad Queen Marie is open to the idea of trade, and I would like to discuss that in detail with the Ambassador, when he gets here. Anything further to report, Fred?” Dilip asked.

“No, Captain. All seems well. Will call if necessary,” Fred said succinctly.

“Very well, First Officer. Captain out.”


“Ship’s log, stardate 1604.23, 0810 hours, Second Officer Freida recording.

“We made Mobile Bay last night shortly after sundown. It was decided to anchor out in the bay and not approach town until after sunrise. With the arrival of daylight, we can see how smart a decision it was.

“Downtown Mobile, and in particular the waterfront area, looks like a bomb went off in it. An oil refinery must have caught fire and gone kaboom, because Frack is overflying the city, and he’s saying that the entire waterfront from the Interstate Ten bridges south looks burned, melted and charred. The bridges are down, and it looks like everything on the Mobile River side of the bay is a lost cause. He’s getting film of the devastation, while we’re heading for the eastern shore, hoping we can find a place to at least put SOMEthing in the fuel tanks. From where we are, it’s pretty much a hundred miles to Pensacola, and we’ve burned a lot of diesel getting here from the west side of Louisiana.

“Here’s hoping. More later. Freida out.” She did the save and send, then went back to work looking for some place to refuel.

“Ship’s log, stardate 1604.23, 1400 hours, Chief Engineer Frack recording.

“We have found a place to fuel up, and for the past couple of hours we have set up the purifier and pumps, finally getting a chance to show Foster how to do it. There’s enough here to do a fill-up, which will take until tomorrow to finish. Freida’s out filming more of the wreckage of Mobile. Her claws are better camera operators than my hooves, for sure. The entire Mobile River waterfront is completely, utterly ruined. Whenever that fire was, I’m glad I was nowhere near it. Day after tomorrow, Pensacola. Fred and Foster are out looking for supplies, Frick’s watching the purifier, and Fran’s asleep. She relieves me at four. I can see the logic in the watch schedule, but getting used to it ain’t easy!”


“Ship’s log, stardate 1604.25, 1630 hours, Captain Frick recording.

“We have arrived at Pensacola, Florida, and are setting up to refuel here at a sheltered marina, because Frack says weather is due soon. We’ll spend a day or two here, restocking and evaluating before starting to head down the Florida coast. Next target after here is Tampa/Saint Petersburg, and a place that is highlighted on our charts, Sunken Gardens. It’s been a well-known botanical garden for decades, and we want to check it out, to see if any exotics have taken root there. We have several large vacuum-sealed bags full of poison joke petals and stems, which we will hand over to the first WSU rep we run into, along with another large bag full of smaller bags of other pharmaceutical flora.

“Looking forward to some time on shore, replenish supplies, and kick back for a WHAT THE FUCK?” Frick exclaimed as a dark blur raced up from belowdecks, out the open saloon door, up onto the pier and away. “I’ll get back to this later. Captain out.” Frick quickly saved the file, but didn’t send. Looking in the salon, he noticed one of the two-way radios was missing from its charging rack. Frack and Foster were looking, both quite confused, at the gangplank that led from the swim deck to the pier, which was swaying gently, a couple of Frack’s feathers floating in the remnant breeze.

“Y’all see what that was?” Foster asked.

“Fran, but she doesn’t move that fast without good reason. Wonder what it is,” Frack said as he went back to assembling the purifier.

“Remind me not to get in a foot race with her,” Foster muttered.

“Don’t even think of trying. She can outspeed ME, for a little while, at least,” Frack replied.

“Cornhusker Five to Cornhusker Base! Priority ONE!” Fran’s voice shouted over the radio.

“Cornhusker Five, this is Cornhusker One. What’s going on?”

“We got a bus into a tree, at the intersection of...Chase and Baylen… I can hear kids inside! Send help!”

“Let me call up the map, Five. Any fire visible?” Frick asked as he called up a map.

“Not yet, but there’s black smoke drifting up from under the engine. I’m going to try to release the back door! Five out!” Fran said before the line went quiet.

Frick called out from the pilothouse. “Frieda, grab your gun bag. Frack, you and Freida get airborne and find the smoke Fran reported. Foster, get the wagon untied and set up. I’ll wake up Fred. MOVE!” he commanded.

Freida and Frack took off, Frieda grabbing her radio and medical bag first. Foster went to the bow and started removing the wagon from its mount, taking his time because while he had seen it being put up and taken down, he hadn’t done it before.

Frick went below decks to wake up Fred, but he found his First Officer already up and getting his saddlebags onto his back. “Bus full of kids and a few adults had just left the church lot when the Flash hit. They plowed into a tree. Some spirit let me know. I know where,” Fred managed to say while getting his bags tied down with one strap.

“Foster’s getting the wagon ready. You go there and take charge, I’ll run the boat. I’ll put on some more coffee,” Frick said as he got out of Fred’s way.

“Help Foster get the wagon ready, then harness me. We’ll keep in touch,” Fred said as he left the saloon and made his way to the pier. Foster had the wagon free and on the pier, his golden glow unfolding the wagon and setting the pegs in place. When Fred was ready, Frick removed the saddlebags, put them in the wagon, and helped Fred hitch up. Foster went back inside to get a radio and the spare first aid gear, also grabbing the one fire extinguisher kept on the after deck, near where the spare fuel barrels were tied, putting the stuff in the wagon before Fred trotted off, Foster keeping up.

“Cornhusker Flight to Cornhusker Base. On scene. Will call in when able.” Frieda called.

“Ten-four, Cornhusker Three. Cornhusker Two and Pelican Six are on the way with the wagon and extra gear,” Frick replied.

“Cornhusker Flight copies. Getting to work.”

Author's Note:

Well, so much for Mobile... the city may be all right, but the waterfront is more like burned toast. Pensacola, there's a busload of kids needing help. Never ends, does it?

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