Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2) by R.E. McDermott Page A

guys, but he’s clear he’s to take orders from you. That said, I’m figuring you’ll defer to his opinion when it comes to defense and security issues.”
    “Absolutely,” Hughes said.
    “READY TO SHOVE OFF, CHIEF?” came a shout from below. Both men looked down to see Bollinger standing in the patrol boat as it idled at the bottom of the accommodation ladder, the floating trailer secured to a towing bridle behind it. Kinsey raised his hand in acknowledgment, turned to Hughes, and offered his hand.
    Hughes shook Kinsey’s hand. “Don’t worry about us, Matt. Just get to Baton Rouge and bring your family back. And try checking in from the Calcasieu Lock. Your antenna’s not very high, so you may be beyond VHF range, but call if you can.”
    “Thank you, Jordan,” Kinsey said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Take good care of the Ark for us while we’re gone.”
    Hughes nodded and Kinsey released his hand to rush down the accommodation ladder to the waiting boat.
    Warden’s Office
    Federal Correction Complex
    Beaumont, Texas
     
    Day 26, 10:45 a.m.
    Darren ‘Spike’ McComb, formerly federal inmate number 26852-278, formerly recipient of a triple life sentence and currently captain of the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas, glared across the desk.
    “So those idiots just let them cruise down the river liked they owned it? Is that what you’re telling me, Snaggle?”
    Across from McComb, Owen Fairchild, aka ‘Snaggle’ for his dental issues, squirmed in his seat. “They reported in soon as they saw it,” he whined, “but you said no radios in case the ship had our frequency and was listening, and by the time they got word back here down the various lookout points along the river, the boats had already passed.”
    “And nobody thought it might be a good idea to, you know, SHOOT THE BASTARDS!”
    “They had that damned machine gun, Spike. Can’t blame the boys for not wantin’ to tangle with that. Besides—”
    “All right, all right,” McComb said, “you say they split up?”
    Snaggle nodded. “I had a couple of the boys on top of the big bridge. They said the Coast Guard boat with two guys on it turned up the canal toward Louisiana and our … the other boat with the machine gun hung around at the canal entrance for a while, like it was trying to make sure nobody followed the Coast Guard boat. Then they ran back to the ship at top speed.”
    McComb bit back his wrath at the mention of the Sheriff’s Department patrol boat he’d lost in last week’s fight with the ship’s crew. He pondered the possibilities as the silence grew.
    “Ahh … Spike?”
    “Yeah, just thinking,” McComb said. “So they put a machine gun on our boat, but what happened to the one on the Coast Guard boat?”
    Snaggle shrugged. “The boys said it didn’t have one. I guess that must be the one on our boat. Looks like they switched it over.”
    McComb rubbed his chin. “Which likely means they ain’t got that many of them, maybe only the one. That’s all we seen, anyway.”
    Snaggle shook his head. “I reckon one’s enough when they got open water or marsh all around. Ain’t no way to sneak up on ’em.”
    “You just let me worry about that, genius,” McComb said. “Now what about this thing the Coast Guard boat was towing. What was it?”
    “The boys said it looked like some sort of raft made out of oil drums. They never seen nothing like it.”
    “Well, whatever it is,” McComb said, “I doubt it’s a problem for us, and a boat and two shooters out of the way cuts down the odds a bit anyway. What sort of intel you been able to develop on that ship?”
    “I been keepin’ a lookout hidden at the terminal across the river, just like you said. Based on the uniforms and coveralls, we make it to be about a half dozen of those Coast Guard assholes, give or take counting the two that just left, and maybe twenty ship’s crew. They also have a bunch of women and kids. Hard to tell for sure, we can only see who