There Are No Lights In Naples
The outline of buildings on the eastern horizon should be, Naples. Light from a rising full moon silhouettes them above a beach I cannot see. This is the eleventh day since I’ve detected any sign of human life … not present on this boat. I should feel vindicated, but I don’t. Quite the opposite.
Warm Gulf of Mexico waters lap at my cabin-cruiser as I steer it. The sea mocks me with sounds it makes. It has since I ventured into its isolation three weeks ago. Its mocking went unheard when I confidently took us away from what I knew would happen. Reality is clear. I’ve escaped a bad fate for a worse one. Glowing sparkles of phosphorescence flow behind my boat. They stretch back toward this day’s point of departure, no-place. The bow points to tomorrow’s destination, no-where.
It was so evident. The Apocalypse arrived, not in a flash of nuclear fire, but as a man- made microscopic virus. The Middle East fanatics’ dedication to conquering the world … destroyed it. At least, human kind had the satisfaction of watching those causing Armageddon, perish first. Annihilation in Europe, Africa, was complete. Asia succumbed. No one knew how the virus spread. Air, contact, insects … no one knew. When the first cases appeared in Brazil, I knew time was short. When the government announced, “Don’t panic, everything is under control,” I realized we were doomed if we didn’t act alone.
Could we find complete isolation? If the virus came, ravaged, and died while we retreated to a cocoon, maybe … only maybe, we’d survive. I provisioned our 28’ boat with 150 gallons of water, canned vegetables, 200 gallons of gas, and my fishing tackle. My wife Anne and I left before cases were reported in the States. “Annie’s Fannie” cruised west until we reached a spot twenty miles offshore from Clearwater. Many others had the same idea, but they waited. We observed the result, boatloads of corpses we avoided … for they were the plague.
The expected happened. Disaster … far away … then closer … then news stopped. While our cell phones functioned, heart-rending good-bye calls came from friends … our children.
Finally, phones failed, broadcasts ceased, GPS disappeared. As these evaporated, our spirits died with them. Coastal city lights became fewer then went out. These last dying lights took Anne’s resolve. She sobbed constantly … finally, she hardly spoke.
Three nights ago she asked, “Will we find lights again?” I told her we’d go south to Naples. I was honest, saying, “I don’t think we will.” The next morning the note on her bunk said, “I will always love you.” ……. She was gone.
I’ll chart a course for an island near Key West. It’s the place Anne and I considered heaven on earth. There, I’ll join the rest of my species. I look towards shore and think of her. There are no lights in Naples.
The End
While trying to make it big on Broadway, dancer Abby Fouchet finds herself falling in love, falling in rehearsal (!), and trying to outwit a clever killer out to destroy the man she loves.
This cozy murder mystery takes place aboard luxury liner, Queen Elizabeth II, as wealthy couple celebrate their silver wedding anniversary with family and friends.
Book eight in my Belinda Lawrence Classic Mysteries. Mysteries confront amateur sleuths, Belinda Lawrence and Hazel Whitby in the Somerset village of Milford.
Among the eccentrics is the shadowy Madam Malefic.
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