The New Madrid Run Read Online Free PDF

Arkansas.
    Looking out across the darkening water to the eerie, reddish sky, Travis muttered to himself, “So I’ll be damned, it looks like the son-of-a-gun was right.”
    Too tired to concern himself with food, Travis wrapped a damp blanket around himself and curled up in the cockpit. Before sleep overtook him, he thought about the dog. “Lord,” he said, “I know you’ve already done me a couple of serious favors today, but if you could squeeze in just one more, I’d really like that dog to make it.” He got up and closed the cabin hatch. “Just in case I get my wish and Buster wakes up more frisky than friendly,” he said, as he curled up once more and dropped into a dreamless sleep.
    The first rays of the morning sun found him shivering as he struggled awake. It was late March and should have been comfortably warm, but there was a new, bitter chill to the air, and a cold haze draped the horizon, reminiscent of colder climes. He stretched and yawned, then stood to watch a brilliant orange sun complete its rise above the distant haze, changing the indigo sky to shades of pale blue and rose. After relieving himself over the side of the boat, Travis turned and looked at the hatch doors. “Time to check on Buster,” he said with just a touch of apprehension. He undid the latch and pulled the doors back slowly—nothing in the main cabin. Evidently, the animal hadn’t moved during the night. Although he was a little frightened of a dog that large, he had hoped to see him standing in the cabin. There was a knot in his stomach when he thought, Maybe he isn’t going to move anymore at all .
    Travis shuffled through the water-filled cabin to the forward berth. “Gonna have to get the bilge pumps working today,”he muttered to himself as he sloshed along.
    The dog was still where Travis had left him the night before, but he was no longer lying on his side. He had righted himself with his huge head resting on his paws, as if sleeping. As Travis came into view, the head swung up slowly as the dog bared his teeth and growled menacingly. The animal was apparently doing better, but it was also obvious that he still hardly had the strength to move. What little attempt he had made to rise had been immediately canceled.
    The day before, as Travis passed through the boat, he had seen a jug of bottled water floating amid the debris. He backed away into the galley, found an unbroken bowl, and the jug. He popped off the lid and tasted the contents. It was good, fresh water. He took several swallows, paused for a moment, then took a few more, luxuriating in the feeling of the cool liquid against his parched throat. Afterwards Travis filled the bowl and brought it back to the dog. Slowly, he knelt, container in his outstretched hand. Again the dog rumbled, but no fangs this time.
    Travis set the water on the mattress next to the dog’s head. “Here, big guy, how about something to drink? You gotta be thirsty.”
    The dog turned his head toward the bowl and sniffed. Travis reached out and pushed it a little closer. Slowly, but still watching Travis, the great head dipped and he lapped at the water. The Rottweiler drank all but a swallow, then pulled back and his head collapsed wearily on his front legs. Those black eyes never left the man in front of him for a second.
    Travis was pleased beyond belief, but he decided not to push his luck. After a cursory look at the wound, which seemed less serious in the light of day, he backed off slowly. “I think you’re gonna be okay, guy. Just hang in there and I’ll see if there’s anything for us to eat in here.”
    Again he backed out, into the main cabin, and looked around as daylight streamed through the porthole. “Lord,” he muttered, “what a frigging mess.” He decided to begin with the galley, knowing that food and water were first on any survival list. Surveying what was left of the pantry, most of which was on the floor, Travis discovered a fairly good stock of canned