Feral Nation - Defiance (Feral Nation Series Book 8)

by Scott B. Williams

  “The only thing that’s gonna change is they’re gonna pig out on that pig and go to bed fat and happy!” Jonathan grumbled.

  Jonathan couldn’t see him grinning in the dark, and it was just as well, as it would have only aggravated the kid even more. Eric curled up against the base of a tree and slept with his rifle in his arms. When he woke, it wasn’t because Jonathan had alerted him, but rather it was the sound of a gunshot. Eric rose to a crouch behind the tree with the M4 in hand as Jonathan stirred and reached for his. The two glanced at each other for a brief second without uttering a word, and then Eric was scanning the surrounding forest in the dim light of dawn, looking and listening for movement. The sharp crack of the rifle seemed close by but wasn’t nearly as loud as a 5.56 or any other high-powered round, and Eric pegged it as a .22 rimfire. When there wasn’t a follow up shot, he figured one of the men from the camp had taken a shot at a squirrel or some other small game, and a few seconds later, the barely audible rustle of someone trying to push quietly through the dense undergrowth pinpointed the location of the hunter. Eric put down his rifle and motioned to Jonathan to stay put, and then he slipped away through the trees towards the sound. This was an opportunity to confirm who these people were without exposing himself to the whole group at once, and he didn’t want to miss it.

  He spotted the man just as he was bending to pick up something from the ground, and when he did, Eric saw that it was a gray squirrel, that he’d taken with the scoped .22 bolt-action he carried in his other hand. Eric didn’t want to give the guy a heart attack, but he didn’t want to get shot either, or give him time to yell out in panic and cause every man in the camp to go to arms. He watched from behind a tree as the man tucked the squirrel into his belt and slowly eased on, walking farther away from the camp, his focus entirely on the upper branches of the tall hardwoods where he hoped to spot his next elusive target. Eric was upon him with a few deft steps, avoiding anything that would crunch underfoot, his Glock still in its holster to keep both hands free. He had no intention of hurting the guy, who looked to be in his mid-forties, but he had to take control with authority to prevent getting hurt himself, and to prevent an outcry that would alert the others in the camp. The way the hunter was carrying the rifle, muzzle down by the side of his left hip with the receiver gripped lightly in his relaxed hand, made disarming him child’s play for Eric. As he snatched it away from him with his left hand and threw it aside, he simultaneously clamped his right palm over the man’s mouth and then repositioned his left to the man’s head to leverage him backwards and off balance with a firm, but relatively gentle twist.

  “RELAX!” Eric whispered, as he pulled the hunter the rest of the way to the ground. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just want to talk, and I didn’t want to get shot.”

  Twelve

  “WE’VE GOT TO KEEP them from going forward on that deck!” Bart shouted to Greg and the rest of his crew, as they listened to the Miss Anita’s engine revving up to full power, straining against the two heavy anchors securing her to the deep mud at the bottom of the lake. “Hold your fire until they try, but if they do, make it too dangerous to be worth it!”

  Bart was furious at the turn of events that put the trawler into the hands of these thugs. He questioned whether he should have opened fire on the men in the first boat before any of them had a chance to get aboard, but he knew that would have given away their position to the crew of the second boat. It would have led to an intense firefight and given away their advantage, while as it was, they had taken little return fire and no one in his crew was hit. But having two, possibly three of the bad guys on board the trawler, protected from their bullets by all that steel, left few options for quickly resolving the problem. Even the pilothouse was a safe barricade for the one that had climbed up there from the other side, at least as long as he kept low behind the bulkheads and away from the big windows above waist level.

  Bart and Greg both knew that unless they got a lucky shot because one of those guys made a mistake, the only way to take them out and clear the boat was to go aboard and do it up close and personal. But doing that would be far more difficult than clearing rooms in a house or other structure that one could simply walk up to. First, they had to reach the boat by leaving the cover of the big trees from behind which they’d been shooting. That could only be done by boat or by swimming, either of which would be suicide in broad daylight, unless someone could swim the entire distance underwater. The next challenge was boarding the boat from the water without getting shot. Then, they would have to fight their way inside a vessel fitted with steel doors and hatches, in an attempt to get at a barricaded enemy that could be hidden in any number of dark corners or compartments on any of the three main decks. It wasn’t a job Bart was up for, at age 69, and Greg still wasn’t a hundred percent either, having recently recovered from a life-threatening rifle wound. Bart knew that with all her triathlon experience, Shauna could pull off the swimming part like a champ, but he wasn’t about to suggest it, and Megan, Vicky and Andrew could do little other than help them provide suppressive fire.

  “Don’t waste your ammo,” he shouted to them, knowing that the situation could drag out and they could easily shoot up all they had. Fortunately, he’d made them all bring a substantial amount to perform the drill he’d planned, as he was trying to prepare them for the real thing. The real thing had come all too quickly though, and when it did, it happened in a way none of them expected. If they had been aboard the Miss Anita at the time of such an attack, they would have had the upper hand from a defensive standpoint, but now the tables had turned, and they were presented with the task of trying to retake their own vessel!

  Bart tried calling Keith on the handheld VHF he’d clipped to his belt, but as he’d expected, he got no answer. It was still another hour until noon, and Keith had only promised he would be back before dark. He was nowhere near the short transmitting range of the handheld, so after a couple of attempts, Bart switched it off to save the battery, and considered his remaining options. Greg had one of the units too, and Barth knew they may come in handy if they had to split up. He had already been thinking of trying to circle around to the mouth of the lake even before they heard the Miss Anita’s engine come to life. The two sleek center-console Makos that these cartel pirates arrived in had drifted in that direction, and now both of them were brushing up against the cypress branches that hung out over the edge of the lake. There was enough current running out of the cut that they would eventually float out into the river unless they got snagged on something, so he knew he had to act quickly if he wanted to secure them.

  “I’m going to work my way around and try and get to those boats. If these guys manage to get those anchors broke loose, or find a way to cut the chain rodes, we won’t have a way to go after them. And that’s completely my fault.”

  Bart had known that the 3-gallon portable gas tank in the John boat was nearly empty, and he could have easily topped it off with one of the jerry cans aboard the Miss Anita before they left to begin their drill. But he didn’t bother, because he wasn’t planning to use the motor at all, as keeping quiet was part of the exercise and they only had a short distance to paddle to go ashore anyway. In retrospect, he realized how dumb that was, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Sure, there was enough gas to start the motor and run it a short distance, but not enough to follow the trawler for miles on the river if these men got away and it came to that. Because of this, it was crucial to secure one of those other boats, otherwise, they stood to lose everything and would be stranded there helpless in the swamp until Keith or Eric returned.

  “I’m going with you then,” Shauna said. “You can’t do it by yourself, and besides, if the boats keep drifting, it’s going to require some swimming. I can do the swimming while you cover me.”

  Bart couldn’t think of a good argument against it, so he didn’t bother. “Come on then. We’ll move back into the woods where we don’t have to wade all the way and then loop a
round.”

  “We’ll keep them inside the cabin,” Greg assured him.

  “Just make sure Andrew and the girls conserve their ammo. Megan and Vicky only had three mags each and I don’t know how many rounds they went through already.” Bart motioned to Shauna to go on ahead and then he slipped over to the tree that Andrew had been firing from.

  “Are you all right, son?”

  “I’m fine, Uncle Bart. I think I may have got one of them! I saw him fall right at the same time I shot, but I know everybody else was shooting too.”

  “You’re doing a great job, Andrew! I’m proud of you. But you keep your head down and don’t give the bad guys a target. They know we’ve got ’em cornered, and they can’t get at us out here from the boat, so what we’ve got now is a standoff! We’ll just have to be patient, but we’ll beat ’em in the end, you’ll see. How many shells have you got left?”

  “Probably nineteen, counting the ones in my gun, if I didn’t drop any out of my pockets. I started off with a full box, and I shot six times. I’m sorry I wasted the other five.”

  “It wasn’t a waste if it helped keep them on the defensive. Sometimes it just takes raw firepower to win a gunfight. We caught ’em by surprise and we had to keep the heat on so they couldn’t return aimed fire at us. It worked out just fine, if you ask me. All we’ve got to do is keep ’em from getting away and then figure out how to mop up, and that’s what me and your stepmom are about to do, so I want you to hold your position and keep a sharp eye peeled for targets. You got that son?”

  “Yes sir, Uncle Bart!”

  * * *

  Shauna gave her stepson a quick hug after Bart patted him on the back and moved on ahead. She hated that a 12-year-old boy had to be involved in a firefight, not to mention Megan and Vicky. None of them other than Bart and Greg had any real training for this other than what they’d picked up along the way, mostly from Eric, and now they were in the thick of it while Eric wasn’t even here. Shauna wanted to blame him again, but she knew the real blame fell on Andrew’s father, who had sabotaged their boat and their plans. The attack had come quickly and long before they expected it, just like the one on that neighborhood from which Diane Lambert had been rescued. Shauna didn’t see how they could have really done anything much to avoid it, unless they had all left aboard the Miss Anita, as she had suggested to Eric. Was he really correct in stating that there was no escaping this conflict no matter where they went within the trawler’s limited range? Shauna didn’t know, but Eric had said they would have to fight no matter what, and here they were, caught in the middle of it. Bart had been wise to conduct those preparedness drills with them as he’d been doing since Eric left though. As a result, they were all well-armed and behind cover even though they’d lost possession of the boat that was serving as their home.

  There was no question that the men in the two speedboats were hardened killers, and if they hadn’t gotten the upper hand over them quickly, with their surprise ambush from the woods, Shauna knew their predicament would be far worse. As it was, she realized that while she didn’t have Bart’s or Greg’s experience, she was the most physically fit among them, and she would have it no other way than to accompany Bart in his attempt to recover the attacker’s boats and possibly retake their own. As she followed him through the thick undergrowth that grew on the higher ground inside the ring of cypress trees that bordered the lake, Shauna tried to think of just how they could accomplish the latter. She knew Eric would have ideas, if he were here, and that they would probably involve some badass commando-style boarding the trawler from the water and killing all the men aboard with nothing but a knife. She couldn’t do the second part, but Shauna was confident that she could swim out to it underwater, and easily reach the undersides of the hull unseen, but then what?

  When they reached the other side of the lake and approached the narrow inlet leading in, Shauna saw that the two boats were still drifting in the direction of the river, and that if they didn’t catch them quickly, they would be out of reach.

  “I’m going to get them,” she told Bart, as she handed him her rifle and the heavy belt with her spare mags before squatting to untie her bootlaces.

  “It’s too risky to climb aboard either one of those boats as long as they’re this close. You’ll be wide open to fire from that pilothouse, and I don’t know if we can provide enough suppression to keep ’em from shooting. Maybe we ought to wait and see if they actually get that anchor loose or not.”

  “If they do, they’ll still have the advantage, especially once they get out on the open river. I’ll swim underwater, and when I do come up, I’ll stay out of sight on the opposite side of the boats,” Shauna said. “All I need to do is grab a couple of the dock lines to tie them off to a branch or something. I’ve got an idea for keeping them from leaving on the Miss Anita too, if I can find what I need.”

  She told Bart what she had in mind, of the idea that came to her as they worked their way around to this point, reading the expression on his face as he listened. She was certain he would shoot it down as way too risky, but to her surprise, he didn’t.

  “I suppose that’ll work if you could get enough wraps around both the prop and the rudder,” he said. “I’d much rather Eric did it though.”

  “Yeah me too, but Eric’s not here, and it needs doing now!”

  “I know you’re a good swimmer, Shauna, but that’s a long way to go underwater pulling enough line to do the job, even if it doesn’t get hung up on something on the bottom.”

  “It won’t,” Shauna said. “Those two boats probably have lightweight, half-inch nylon rodes with just a few feet of chain behind the anchor. All I need to do is cut a section from one of those and tow one end of it behind me.”

  “I don’t have to tell you what would happen if you get anywhere near that prop when it’s in gear,” Bart said.

  “Nope! But if I hurry, I can catch them with it neutral.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just cover me if I have to come up for air or something. They won’t be able to see me as long as I’m close beside the hull, so I’ll try not to surface anywhere else along the way.”

  “Eric is going to be furious when he finds out I let you do this,” Bart said. “You don’t have to do it, you know.”

  “Eric’s not here and we can’t let them get away with all our weapons and supplies, not to mention the entire boat! I know the risks, but I’ll be careful, Bart. I promise.”

  Shauna was stripped down to just her sports bra and underwear when she entered the water, carrying only her big Cold Steel folder clipped into the elastic at the front of the bra. Because of the dense bushes that grew out over the surface, she was able to reach waist-deep water without exposing herself to view of anyone aboard the trawler. Besides, Greg and the others were still firing sporadic shots to keep the guys on board from sticking their heads up, so Shauna was able to submerge and swim over to the runabouts without them being the wiser. When she reached the first boat, it had swung broadside to the current, which was good for her because it provided maximum concealment for her to reach aboard near the stern and secure a coiled dock line. When she had that in hand, she swam to the other boat and cleated it off to hold them together, and then found another line with which she attached them both to a sturdy branch. The first job was done, and now the challenging one came next. Shauna pulled herself aboard the second boat, taking care to crawl on the cockpit sole so that she wouldn’t be visible above the gunnels as she made her way forward to the anchor locker.

  She knew Bart had seen her board the boat from his angle, and momentarily, after he called Greg on the radio to give him the signal, all four shooters hiding among the trees increased their volume of cover fire. This bought her a few seconds to climb up onto the bow and open the anchor locker, where she sliced the nylon rode just behind the shackle connecting it to the chain and anchor before dropping over the side into the water, pulling it behind her. She’d only had a second to glance at the big c
oil of rope to see if it would run free, and it appeared to be untangled and in order. She pulled a good 100 feet of it into the water behind her and cut it again, certain she had more than enough to do the job she had in mind.

  The dangerous part came next, and Shauna estimated the distance to the trawler to be about the max that she could do underwater on a single breath of air. To pull this off, she was going to have to make that swim unseen, catch her breath when she reached the near side of the hull, and then work underwater by feel to secure the prop with multiple wraps of the nylon rope. Then, she would have to swim all the way back to where Bart was waiting, once again staying underwater and out of sight. As she prepared to go for it, the guy at the controls in the pilothouse was once again backing down in full reverse power, attempting to simply break the two anchors out and drag them free. It was inevitable they would try that tactic, but of course, those anchors were buried deep in the thick mud of the lakebed, and Bart had confidence that they would hold the trawler in a hurricane. Besides that, it was impossible for the operator inside the pilothouse to see what he was doing without getting his head shot off. Bart and the others ramped up their fire each time the engine churned up the water beneath it to no avail.

  Shauna took several rapid, deep breaths and then submerged and began swimming. She knew she would have to time her approach to the boat during a lull in their efforts to break it free, but if she wasn’t in position when that happened, she’d never get the chance. The visibility in the algae-rich lake water was like dimly lit pea soup as she swam three or four feet beneath the surface with a sweeping breaststroke, the tail of the anchor line clenched in her teeth and interfering somewhat, but not really slowing her much. Due to the engine noise underwater, Shauna was able to home in on the trawler without needing to see. As she drew near, desperate for a breath, the current from the strong prop wash swept her forward, towards the bow. They hadn’t given up on breaking it out, and she was afraid she would have to come up for air out in the wide open before finally, whoever was at the controls backed down on the power again and shifted the drive back to neutral.