Read Online Hurricane Fever by Tobias S. Buckell - Free Book Online
Authors: Tobias S. Buckell
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that shit.
But he liked knowing he could pull up the sail, with a larder full of a few months of canned goods and frozen foods, and head out where his whim took him.
This summer, Delroy and he were supposed to sail south. Down through the Caribbean to see Martinique. And then a long stretch out in the Atlantic to get all the way to South America. The great cities down there were something Delroy should experience.
But the boy’d been struggling with classes. That was the main reason Roo’d sent him back to school right away after the storm, instead of asking him to help get the boat ready over the last few days.
They fell into a rhythm. School for Delroy and work on the boat for Roo. Delroy helped paint the hull when he got back, which was tricky business. Laying down lattice for the bio-paint to adhere to as it slowly bonded with the hull rewarded patience and precise fingers.
Later in the week, the two of them worried over tracking another powerful storm brewing in the Atlantic, but this one headed for Florida.
There was always a bit of guilt about being relieved the storm was off to hit someone else. But at least state-siders could still use vehicles to retreat along the highways and wait out the storm.
Roo had thrown himself into refitting the ship, and dropped into bed each night tired. Bone-deep weary.
And, he knew, ignoring the data hanging on the chain around his neck.
I’m not ignoring you, Zee, he thought. I just can’t face it all just yet. He needed to get everything sat back in place, shipshape, before he could take on the heavy weight of figuring out what was in the damn tree frog drive. He’d charged in too quickly in Tortola, instead of playing it safe. That left him making things up in the field.
If the person had been less worried about public violence, the whole scene in Road Town could have ended very badly.
Maybe that was an excuse for his delaying. But Roo had always worked his way sideways toward things.
And with the tree frog hanging just inside his shirt as he worked, he felt like he still had a piece of his old friend with him. When he really dug into it, he was going to probably have to let it go. Come to terms with Zee being dead.
Roo had never been good about that sort of stuff.
* * *
With Spitfire back in shape and just a few days left in the boatyard for them to relax, Roo made a trip to the Tutu Mall area a couple miles down the road, with an electric Haier hatchback he’d rented for the afternoon, to pick up more deep-frozen food for the catamaran and an extra set of batteries.
They’d come close to draining the ship’s battery bank in the storm. And the last few days of clouds hadn’t helped; they were still running a bit low. Last night the virtual talking heads had started chattering about yet another storm that could possibly turn and start coming for the islands. One of three forming up in the overheated middle of the Atlantic.
Better to get prepared for even worse, everyone said. No breaks this year in the constant summer-long hammering of storms up through the middle of the Caribbean and lower East Coast of the U.S.
Roo parked the car, picked up a battery in each hand, and walked across the gravel of the boatyard, through the sporadic forest of boat hulls with their masts towering overhead.
A table saw kicked up a whine in the distance, a bit of vibrato kicking in as it bit metal. Someone else blasted music as they painted a hull.
Always a handful of people working on hauled-out boats. Other boats were still and quiet, some wrapped in polypropylene. In storage. Waiting out the hurricane season.
Roo’d gotten used to the rhythm of the boatyard already. He’d been in enough of them.
So the two men in jeans and shirts off near one of the boats caught his eye.
Casual wear. But clean clothes. Not covered in paint splatters, barnacle slime, or dust from sanding. No oil or grease.
Roo kept walking toward the Spitfire . He’d already gotten halfway
But he liked knowing he could pull up the sail, with a larder full of a few months of canned goods and frozen foods, and head out where his whim took him.
This summer, Delroy and he were supposed to sail south. Down through the Caribbean to see Martinique. And then a long stretch out in the Atlantic to get all the way to South America. The great cities down there were something Delroy should experience.
But the boy’d been struggling with classes. That was the main reason Roo’d sent him back to school right away after the storm, instead of asking him to help get the boat ready over the last few days.
They fell into a rhythm. School for Delroy and work on the boat for Roo. Delroy helped paint the hull when he got back, which was tricky business. Laying down lattice for the bio-paint to adhere to as it slowly bonded with the hull rewarded patience and precise fingers.
Later in the week, the two of them worried over tracking another powerful storm brewing in the Atlantic, but this one headed for Florida.
There was always a bit of guilt about being relieved the storm was off to hit someone else. But at least state-siders could still use vehicles to retreat along the highways and wait out the storm.
Roo had thrown himself into refitting the ship, and dropped into bed each night tired. Bone-deep weary.
And, he knew, ignoring the data hanging on the chain around his neck.
I’m not ignoring you, Zee, he thought. I just can’t face it all just yet. He needed to get everything sat back in place, shipshape, before he could take on the heavy weight of figuring out what was in the damn tree frog drive. He’d charged in too quickly in Tortola, instead of playing it safe. That left him making things up in the field.
If the person had been less worried about public violence, the whole scene in Road Town could have ended very badly.
Maybe that was an excuse for his delaying. But Roo had always worked his way sideways toward things.
And with the tree frog hanging just inside his shirt as he worked, he felt like he still had a piece of his old friend with him. When he really dug into it, he was going to probably have to let it go. Come to terms with Zee being dead.
Roo had never been good about that sort of stuff.
* * *
With Spitfire back in shape and just a few days left in the boatyard for them to relax, Roo made a trip to the Tutu Mall area a couple miles down the road, with an electric Haier hatchback he’d rented for the afternoon, to pick up more deep-frozen food for the catamaran and an extra set of batteries.
They’d come close to draining the ship’s battery bank in the storm. And the last few days of clouds hadn’t helped; they were still running a bit low. Last night the virtual talking heads had started chattering about yet another storm that could possibly turn and start coming for the islands. One of three forming up in the overheated middle of the Atlantic.
Better to get prepared for even worse, everyone said. No breaks this year in the constant summer-long hammering of storms up through the middle of the Caribbean and lower East Coast of the U.S.
Roo parked the car, picked up a battery in each hand, and walked across the gravel of the boatyard, through the sporadic forest of boat hulls with their masts towering overhead.
A table saw kicked up a whine in the distance, a bit of vibrato kicking in as it bit metal. Someone else blasted music as they painted a hull.
Always a handful of people working on hauled-out boats. Other boats were still and quiet, some wrapped in polypropylene. In storage. Waiting out the hurricane season.
Roo’d gotten used to the rhythm of the boatyard already. He’d been in enough of them.
So the two men in jeans and shirts off near one of the boats caught his eye.
Casual wear. But clean clothes. Not covered in paint splatters, barnacle slime, or dust from sanding. No oil or grease.
Roo kept walking toward the Spitfire . He’d already gotten halfway
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