Departure

Posted on Fri Apr 10th, 2026 @ 4:28pm by New York Survivor Amythyst & New York Survivor John ("Dodger") Smith & New York Survivor George Brooks & New York Survivor Jordana Venturi & Survivor Elena Marwick

1,424 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Safe Harbor
Location: Safe Harbour Island
Timeline: 1st October 2010 Time: 2am

The air was cold enough that breath showed. Fog clung low over the water, muffling sound and swallowing distance. Five boats rode it now, shapes half-lost to mist, each one chosen for a reason, each one already settling lower as the morning crept in.

Closest to the main pier loomed the yacht, wide-beamed and steady, decks cleared, lines checked, engines quiet but ready. She would take what couldn’t be replaced — food, medical supplies, fuel, electronics, people. Slow, but dependable.

Further down the dock waited Nowhere, Briar and Rowan’s small half-cabin fishing boat. Light. Shallow draft. Quiet. The kind of boat you scouted with. Or ran with.

Beyond that floated The Lucky Break, nothing but a stripped hull now, riding low and obedient under tow. No engine. No comforts. She would take overflow — bedding, clothing tubs, soft bulk — things that mattered, but not more than lives.

The flatbed supply barge sat heavy and ugly in the water, all deck space and brute force. Diesel drums. Feed. Awkward crates that didn’t belong anywhere else.

And slightly apart from the rest, downwind and already alive with sound, waited the crew boat.

Livestock transport.

Amy stood near the flatbeds with a clipboard salvaged from somewhere inside the house, hair tied back, jacket zipped to her chin. Boxes were already staged in rows, grouped by weight and priority. Nothing was random. Nothing was sentimental.

She raised her voice just enough to carry.

“Load order stays the same. Heavy first. Liquids low. Soft goods last. If you don’t know where it goes — you stop and ask.”

The heaviest crates moved first.

Food and water came down the dock in careful pairs — rice, flour, canned goods, water cartons — each box checked off before it was handed forward. The diesel drums stayed back for now, looming at the edge like a promise they weren’t ready to make yet.

Amy watched the balance instinctively, eyes flicking between the deck and the shifting weight of the load. She corrected placement with a hand gesture, a sharp word, a nod.

One crate scraped slightly as it was lowered.

She froze.

“Easy,” she said. “If it drops, we don’t replace it.”

The dock creaked. The fog swallowed the sound.

Bedding and soft supplies followed — blankets, compressed quilts, sealed tubs of clothing. Lighter, but bulky. Awkward to carry. Easy to misjudge.

Amy adjusted straps herself this time, kneeling to pull them tight, fingers numb but steady. She passed out gloves where needed. Corrected grips. Shifted loads an inch at a time until the balance felt right.

“Not that side,” she told someone quietly. “That’s where we’ll need to sleep if we can’t unload right away.”

The hockey stick was already secured along the side rail, lashed down where it wouldn’t roll loose. Amy glanced at it once, then away.

George was nearby — steady presence, familiar weight — someone who could make a bad moment easier or a good one quieter.

Amy handed off a box, then paused.

“George,” she said, not loudly. “Can you take point on the soft goods? Make sure nothing crushes.”

She didn’t wait for confirmation. She trusted him to either do it — or say why he couldn’t.

George nodded as he finished checking the engines (for the second time already that morning). He wasn't taking any chances with their lives here. "Got it, Amy," he replied softly as he started to direct the loading and securing of the remaining supplies.

The animals came last.

The crew boat was already loud when Matilda stepped aboard first, halter slack, moving slow but steady. Bramble followed, heavier and more suspicious, testing the ramp before committing. Pip came last, nudged gently forward, pressing close to Matilda’s flank the moment his hooves hit deck.

Then the bulls.

Old King was brought aboard first — forward and outboard, given space and a clear line of sight to open water. He snorted once, massive head swinging, testing air and deck alike. Amy kept her distance, hands low, voice calm, letting him decide the ground was solid.

Shadow came next, quieter but tightly wound. He was guided mid-deck toward the shaded side, kept out of Old King’s line of sight. His cloudy eye tracked every movement, but he chose stillness over panic.

Only once the cattle were settled did the rest continue.

Ten goats followed — restless but manageable once penned. Chickens came next, crated and stacked away from spray. The beehives were carried like glass, strapped down and shaded, vents checked twice.

Then the dogs.

Kira went up first, leashed but not restrained tight, eyes sharp, body tense but controlled. The pups were placed immediately beside her in a reinforced low pen lined with familiar bedding — tarp shreds, cloth, the smell of their den. Brutus boarded last, taking the edge of the deck like it was instinct, positioning himself outward, watchful.

They were kept together. They had to be.

Animals weren’t cargo. They were responsibility.

“Nothing stacked over them,” Amy said flatly. “If they panic, we all lose.”

Water tubs were secured. Feed lashed close. The crew boat sat lower now, breathing and shifting with living weight.

On the yacht, the cats were already settled.

An interior cabin had been cleared and darkened, converted into a cat-safe hold. Ash and Copper were placed first — initially in carriers, then allowed the space once the door was sealed. The kittens were grouped in reinforced crates, bedding layered thick with familiar scent. Everything was strapped down. Food and litter were set before departure.

That door stayed closed.

No kids. No traffic. No sudden openings.

Ash would be watching from the dark.
Copper from somewhere higher than he should be.

The packs came last.

Twenty hiking packs lined up on the dock, each one checked, weighed, and marked with a strip of colored tape. No names. Just color codes. Faster that way.

Amy called the kids forward one by one, making them shoulder their packs before moving past the threshold. She adjusted straps, tugged buckles, pressed a hand briefly to each shoulder — a silent check.

“You don’t drop it,” she told them. “If you fall, you fall with it on.”

By 4am The flatbed was ugly and heavy.
The yacht was packed but balanced.
The Lucky Break rode low, obedient under tow.
The crew boat shifted and breathed with cattle and dogs aboard — Old King a dark mass at the bow, Shadow a quiet shape in the shade.
Nowhere waited — light, alert, ready.

Nothing rattled.

That meant it would hold.

"George, you and Jordana are on the yacht." Amy said.

It almost felt like Noah's Ark. All the animals, everything was coming before the quiet storm that could come. Jordana did what she could to help them move quickly. She missed her sister, but at the moment, she had no idea where she is.

Turning to Amy, she nodded, "Of course. Is there anything else you want me to bring over or help with."

George nodded as he grabbed his ruck and made his way aboard their initial boat and op into the bridge.

"Dodger, you and Elliot will take the crew boat."

Dodger nodded at Amy's statement. "Come on Elliott, Fisher come on, we're leaving." He said to the young boy and dog who had adopted him and he was grateful for the dog's companionship.. He looked at Amy. "How do you want us to leave and are the weapons packed?"

"Yacht first then you, then the fishing boat then the barge with the Lucky break in tow. And yes everything is packed." Amy replied.

Dodger nodded again and offered a simple reply. "Understood. "

"Briar is on the fishing boat with Patrick."

Briar nodded and Patrick grabbed his pack and headed for the fishing boat.

"I will take Austin on the Barge." No one would be on the Lucky break. Amy had chosen that deliberately.

Elena walked up slowly. "I am staying." she announced.

Dodger stopped on his way to the crew boat and turned around. " What do you mean your staying?" He asked Elena before he looked to Amy, "Amy, we don't have time for this."

Amy nodded and said "Get started Dodger I will deal." She turned to Elena. "What do you mean?"

"I am nearing the end Amy. I can distract them." Elena began

"No. You were abandoned before not this time. Get on the Yacht." Amy said. "We need your knowledge until the end."

Elena sighed and headed for the Yacht with George and Jordana.

OFF

 

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