Page 10 of Against the Wind

“Exactly. Perfect spot if you don’t want company.” The first man’s voice dropped lower. “Saw them again this morning, same place. Definitely two boats this time.”

His companion whistled low. “You tell anyone?”

“Who’m I gonna tell? Harbor patrol’s too busy with storm prep. Besides, could be nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Two boats, running dark, using local knowledge of dangerous channels—it fit the pattern. Smugglers often recruited local fishermen as pilots, using their expertise to navigate tricky waters.

Tank’s voice broke through my concentration. “You gonna finish those fries?”

I glanced at the half-eaten pile of french fries still in the basket. “You know what? You take them. I’m gonna make a quick phone call.”

As I slid off my stool, the door banged open, letting in a gust of wind that rattled the plywood we’d just installed. More localspoured in, their voices adding to the growing anxiety about the approaching storm.

I slipped out of the bar and around the side of the building, out of earshot of any eavesdroppers. Then I put in a call to Lieutenant Commander Hayes. The wind had picked up, whipping my t-shirt against my chest.

“Hayes.” His voice crackled through the static.

“LaRue here, sir. Got something from Home Port bar. Two vessels reported running dark north of Miller’s wreck, using the deep channel through the shoals. Local spotted them last night and again this morning.”

“Coordinates?”

“Not exact, sir. Based on the maps, I can make an educated guess.” I relayed where I believed them to be discussing. “It’s a tricky passage—lots of shifting sandbars. Perfect spot if you’re trying to avoid attention.”

Hayes grunted. “Matches our intelligence on previous patterns. Any visual confirmation?”

“Negative. Just overheard two locals discussing it. I’d say one’s a credible witness—knew his waters well enough to spot something off.”

“Noted. Keep your cover, LaRue. Focus on the storm prep we sent you there for. But...”

“Eyes and ears open. Yes, sir.”

“And LaRue?” Hayes paused. “No heroics. You’re there to gather intel. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

I hung up and leaned against the wall, letting the salt air fill my lungs. Through the window, I could see Tank demolishing my abandoned fries. We still had six windows to board up, and the sky was darkening faster than I liked. Time to get back to work.

SEVEN

GABI

I paused in my chart notations as I heard the radio shift from music to the announcer.

“Good afternoon Hatterwick Island. This is Sam Lewis coming to you live on WHAT with the latest on Hurricane Hannah. She has strengthened into an extremely dangerous Category 3 hurricane with winds of 115 mph as she works her way closer to our coast. According to the National Weather Service, additional strengthening is likely, so we could see winds up to 120 mph or more at landfall tomorrow evening.”

It had been a while since we’d had a storm this strong. For about the fiftieth time today, I wished I wasn’t the only doctor on island. Of course all our firefighters were certified EMTs, and we had a half-dozen nurses of varying skill levels—if we included the retirees. But I was extra cognizant that a lot of people were depending on me.

“I hope everyone has secured properties and finalized storm preparations. This is a life-threatening situation. As a reminder, the final ferry departing Hatterwick will leave from Sutter’s Ferry in just under an hour at 3pm. After that, all ferries will be suspended. Emergency management has opened the high school gym and the community center for additional sheltercapacity. For transportation, please call the emergency hotline number. I’ll continue providing live radio updates as Category 3 Hurricane Hannah approaches. Stay safe, and remember we’re all in this together, Hatterwick! Talk to you again soon.”

The day had been a total shit show. I’d known it would be from the moment I’d arrived to find evidence of an attempted break-in. We’d had non-stop patients, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking at every single person who came through the door, analyzing their behavior to assess whether they were casing the place. But nobody paid any undue attention to the drug room or seemed to be acting sketchy. Plenty of folks were jumpy, but given the storm rolling in, that wasn’t at all surprising.

None of it made me feel any better.

“Doc, you’re up. Got a nasty sprained wrist in two,” Kristie announced. “Rads already pulled up.”

Blowing out a breath, I added a few more lines about my previous patient to the electronic chart notes, then stepped into room 2. Marion Zimmerman sat on the exam table, cradling her wrist close to her body. Even from across the room, I could see the swelling and bruising.

“Well now, what’s happened to you?”

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