Draw Box

Stock could hear the aching hull scraping across the pile, adding to the noise of the now screaming turbine engines, as he was slammed forward against the restraints of the captain’s chair. Once the stern of the vessel cleared the debris it fell hard into the water, lifting the bow and throwing Stock back hard against the chair. He could hear the turbines muffled, churning as they entered the water and felt the surge upstream as they were engulfed. The two miles upstream to the remains of the Merchants Bridge would go fast. Stock wished for a second that he had brought up and stored another bottle of sake. He could use a hard pull right now, he thought, as he checked all of the gauges and looked at the skeletal looking remains of the old railroad bridge coming into view. The narrow width and gapped ties of the old rail bridge made it difficult for people to bring large objects out across the remaining span. Stripped out refrigerators, freezers, washers and dryers were no match for the trawlers hull. At the Eads and Chain of Rocks Bridge larger scrap iron and chunks of concrete could be hauled to the end of the span and dumped into the waterway. Stock stayed hard on the throttle knowing the longer it took him to breach the barricade here, the more time it would give to the people at the Chain of Rocks. He was sure by now a messenger would have been sent, making them aware of his arrival. Running fast toward the narrow passage he could see more debris being dumped into the river. People hung on the trestle watching as more people hauled debris and pushed it over the edge. Slamming in hard the bow blasted the top of the pile upstream. As the length of the trawler breached the barricade the sides of the hull forced the scrap back against itself on the portside and against the pilings on the starboard. Debris smashed down onto the steel cage and covered the pilot house windows and across the deck, as they tried to inflict any catastrophic damage they could, to disable the vessel as it passed beneath them. Having been able to get beyond these two obstacles successfully, Stock cut the jet drive and lowered the props. The throttle set at trolling speed in the current gave him time to check below deck for damage and sleeve a bottle of sake. On his way back to the pilothouse Stock checked the bow cannon and grapple for obstruction or damage. Then he walked around the hydride tanks. The steel cage covering the tanks had protected them from the falling debris. Once he passed the Chain of Rocks Bridge he would be in open water with only a few obstructions which he was aware of and shifting sandbars that the sonar would navigate. The flooded plains along the Illinois Waterway were impassible bogs which prevented anyone from obstructing the waterway there. They had, on occasion, passed people on crudely built rafts, trying to navigate the channel. Sometimes seeing the craft later abandoned after running aground in the silt or sand bars. Stock walked to the stern of the vessel and stood looking back at the trestle, thinking of all of the trips he and his uncle had made on the river. He reached in his sleeve and pulled the bottle of sake out, took a long hard pull of it, and put it back. He could see the people leaving the trestle, some stayed behind waving their fists and yelling toward him. Stock stood for a moment watching, not knowing what to think of them. Their lives, their existence of total desperation. No laws, no order. Whoever is the strongest rules until they’re cut down, then it's someone else's turn. Standing there listening to the trawler chugging against the current and watching the water flow by, thoughts of Terena, the events and people of the platform, started entering his mind. He knew it was time to go strap himself into the captain's chair and head for the Chain of Rocks. The break he had taken to check over the trawler had given the people time to add more debris to the passageway, but it had also given him a chance to recall the things his uncle had taught him in order to navigate the shallow waterway, as well as clear a massive debris pile. The collapsed bridges blocking the shipping channel had collected enough silt, sand and debris, to greatly inhibit flow and forced the water back into the main river current. This increased the depth enough to make it navigable through the rocks. The sonar guided thrusters would guide the vessel through but did not regulate speed. That would be left up to Stock. “I wish you were here with me now,” Stock said aloud to the memory of his uncle, upon seeing the massive debris pile barricading the passage. Slowing the trawler down to navigate the rocks, he could see water gushing through vacant automobile chassis where doors and windows had once been. Large pieces of iron and steel protruded out of the blockage like an iron gate. There had been a few times before that the barricade had been this strong; large debris was becoming scarce and had to be brought from longer distances. The end of the bridge, towering fifty feet above the river, was usually lined with automobile chassis filled with concrete chunks teetering on the edge. After pulling the debris clear enough to break through, the length of the trawler made it impossible to make it beyond the piling without more debris crashing onto the vessel from above. The moment the bow came near the end of the span they would release the heavy auto chassis and other debris.