by A. American
After a couple of tries, Sarge let the board go. It appeared to be floating on the river. Fishing his hands in the water around the edge of the board closest to the boat, he made a couple of adjustments. Once he was satisfied with its location, Sarge stood up and stepped out onto the board, one hand on the old tree for support. He began to dip the toe of his right foot into the water, feeling around. Finally, he settled on what he was looking for and stepped forward, repeating the process with his left foot.
Mike was standing in the boat, watching this in amazement. “Oh, my god, the old fart can walk on water,” he said out loud. Doc and Ted started to laugh.
Without even looking up, Sarge fired back, “Shut up, asshole, or I won’t give you a beer when you’re done.” Mike just shook his head.
After a couple more steps on the water, Sarge disappeared into the blackness of the swamp. It was as if he stepped out of this realm; he was just gone. If it wasn’t for the sound of him moving around in the blackness just out of their sight, the guys could have thought he was eaten by the night. Mike flipped his goggles down just in time to the see the end of a large cypress plank falling out of the night. He jumped back, stumbling over the cooler. “Shit!”
From the black came Sarge’s reply, “He-he-he.” After a couple more adjustments, the old man came out of the swamp and walked right up to the boat. “All right, boys, tie the boats together and follow me.”
With the boats all tied together, Doc and Ted climbed from boat to boat to reach the plank bridge Sarge had laid out. Once they were in the boat with Mike, they all looked down at the bridge. “What the hell is this?” Doc asked.
“Just a little secret of mine. I drove some posts down into the water here; that first board I cut from an old cypress log I pulled from the river. It’s waterlogged and sinks, so I leave it between the posts. Once it’s down, I can get back in here to the other one, stepping on the tops of the other posts. That takes me back to my boardwalk. Come on.” Sarge turned and walked off into the black swamp. The three guys were standing in the boat. Mike looked over at the other two and shrugged his shoulders. As gingerly as he could, he stepped out onto the board. He looked like he was walking through a minefield the way he moved.
Following the boardwalk, they came to a little cabin built on posts sunk into the swamp, using cypress trees in some places for additional support. The cabin was completely invisible in the dark. The only way they knew it was there was that Sarge had lit a hurricane lantern inside, lighting up a rectangular block in all the blackness. As Mike walked up, he had his arms out like he was balancing himself. The sense of vertigo in the darkness, no handrail on the boardwalk, worked to make him feel as if he was going to fall over.
Inside the cabin, Mike looked around. There were deer hides on the walls, a turkey tail in a fan, and two gator skins stretched out. Looking around, he said, “What the hell is this?”
Ted came up behind him and stuck his head in the doorway. “Looks like a poacher’s shack to me.”
Mike started to laugh out loud. “Holy shit, Sarge is a fuckin’ poacher!” He doubled over with laughter. Sarge came up behind him and kicked his legs out from under him, causing Mike to fall back, banging his head on the plywood wall.
“I ain’t no damn poacher!” he yelled out.
• • •
Seeing what his raiders had been, Thad fell back onto the bench seat with a bellowing laugh. As he did, the knuckles that went through the glass pulled out. The pain from that made him quickly bolt upright again, breathing in hard through clenched teeth. “Ooooo!” He was shaking the hand. Taking a look, it wasn’t bad, just a bunch of small cuts, nothing serious. He kicked out of the bag and got out of the truck.
Walking to the back of the truck, he picked up the coon by the half of its tail still there. He was holding it up at eye level, looking at what was left.
“Damn, mister, you ruined it,” came a small voice from his right. Thad looked back over his shoulder and saw a boy of nine or ten standing there. He was holding a little Marlin .22. He startled Thad, but Thad just didn’t feel threatened.
“Yeah, ain’t much left, huh?” Thad replied.
“Watcha gonna do with it?” the kid asked.
“Nothin’. You want it?”
The boy’s face brightened. “Yeah, sure. My mom’ll make something out of it.”
Thad held the carcass out to the boy, who came over and took it as if he was being handed a loaf of bread. He held it down to his side and looked at the truck. “You shore are lucky to have a truck that runs.”
“Yeah, I got a long way to go, though. Where you from?” Thad asked him.
Pointing back through the woods, the kid said, “We’re over at the campground. We was here camping, but now our car won’t start, so we’re just here.”
“Who you here with?” Thad asked.
“My momma, daddy, and two sisters. Daddy’s laid up drunk, so Momma told me to go find some dinner. The fish weren’t biting in the lake, so I came out here to see if I could see something,” the boy replied.
“How old are your sisters?” Thad asked. He had a soft spot for kids—just couldn’t help it.
“They’re three, twins,” he said.
Thad went to the cab and pulled out his pack and fished around until he found an MRE pound cake and a pack of peanut butter. “Here, take these with you.”
The boy took the two pouches from Thad; reading what they were, his face really lit up. “Hey, thanks a lot, mister! Really!” The boy turned and struck out for the camp. Thad stood there shaking his head, watching the boy run. It was a scene out of history, a rifle in one hand and a coon in the other.
Thad scratched his head, noting he needed a haircut. Since he was up, he figured he would take care of the call of nature. Fortunately, he still had about half a roll of ass wipe left. He grabbed the roll and his shotgun and headed for the brush. Even though no one was around, he needed some privacy. As big and intimidating as he was, Thad had some serious insecurities about taking a shit in front of anyone. That was the primary reason he didn’t go into the military. The whole shit, shower, and shave in front of dozens of other men was just something he couldn’t do.
Just as he was trying to finish his business, Thad saw the boy come walking back toward the truck. “Well, dammit,” Thad muttered while trying to stealthily clean his backside. The boy was standing there looking around and then looked over his shoulder and shrugged. A man came into the little clearing. He was carrying the .22 rifle. “Whur’s that big buck, boy?”
Now Thad was worried that little runt went and got his damn drunk daddy to come back for the truck. From his spot in the brush, Thad saw them between the fronds of a palmetto. Well, he could see the boy and the man from the waist down. The boy didn’t look happy; he was clearly uncomfortable.
“Come on, Daddy, let’s go. He gave me that stuff. He’s a nice guy,” the boy pleaded with his father, who responded by slapping him in the back of the head.
“Shut the fuck up, and do what yer told. Go see if the keys is in that truck.” The boy plodded off toward the truck. Now that the boy was away from him, Thad took the opportunity to stand up; his pants were around his ankles though, so this couldn’t turn into a running fight.
With the shotgun shouldered, Thad raised up out of the palmettos. “Right here.” He was off to the man’s right. It was obvious that he was half in the bag, but he had a rifle in his hand. The man looked over at Thad bleary-eyed. “What do you want?” Thad asked him.
“I need a ride to get my family outt’re here,” he mumbled.
“I don’t think you came here to ask for no ride. Now drop that rifle on the ground,” Thad said.
The drunk got a smirk on his face. “He-he, ain’t no nigger gonna tell me wut ta do.” He started to shift the rifle in his hand; he was holding it by the receiver. Thad didn’t wait to see what he intended t
o do. His words were enough.
The 00 buck caught him square in the chest and carried him onto his back. The rifle fell to the ground beside him. When the shot went off, the boy jumped. Thad looked over at him to see what he would do. To his surprise, the boy walked over to his daddy’s body and looked down at it. The man wasn’t dead yet, but it wouldn’t be long. He turned his head toward the boy and tried to raise a hand. The boy was standing over him, looking down.
“You deserved that,” the boy said and spit on his face and then kicked the dying man in the ribs, causing him to let out a barely audible groan.
Thad lowered the shotgun and pulled his pants up with one hand. Stepping out of the bush, he walked over to the boy, who was watching his father die. Without even looking up at Thad’s approach, he said, “Sorry he called you that.”
“Ain’t no matter. I’m sorry he made me do it,” Thad replied.
“I ain’t; I’ve wanted to do it for a long time. He’s an asshole—beats my momma up.” And after a pause, he added, “An’ me. We’re better off without him.” He reached down and picked up the rifle and then looked up at Thad. “Thanks for helping us.”
Thad was a little perplexed. He just killed this kid’s father, and he was thanking him for it. It just wasn’t the kind of thing he expected. “Is there anything I can do for you and your momma?”
“Naw, we have the camper. It’s as good as home. There’s a lake here, woods, and even a water pump at the camp, the old kind you pump up ’n’ down. I like it here,” the boy replied. He stood there looking at the body for another minute and then looked up at Thad with a squint. “I’m gonna go tell Momma; at least now she won’t have to be afraid no more.” He knelt down beside the body. Thad thought he was going to say some kind of good-bye, but instead he went through the pockets and pulled out a pocketknife and Zippo lighter, stuffing them in a pocket of his own. With that, the boy turned and walked away.
Thad decided he had had enough of this place and wanted to get the hell away. Even though it was light out, he decided to leave right then. Getting the truck back out onto 41, he headed south. The shotgun was in his lap, and the SKS was on the seat beside him. Driving during the day made him nervous, but getting home was a compelling reason to do it. Thad kept his speed between fifty and fifty-five. The road had the occasional dead car on it, and, much to his surprise, he saw many people out and about.
Most of the folks he saw paid little attention to him; a few looked but no one made any sort of threatening moves. He was surprised at the ingenuity of some of them. Bikes seemed to be the primary mode of transportation. It wasn’t like the videos he saw of China where hundreds of people were on bikes, but it was the predominant method of getting around. Some of the bikes were pulling trailers of various construction—some were pretty ingenious, and some were a Rube Goldberg affair.
There were also a fair number of horses, and one wagon was pulled by a team. A few miles after getting back on the road, he passed a place where there appeared to be a flea market of sorts. A bunch of booths were set up; it kind of reminded him of Barter Town. That thought gave Thad a chuckle. Since there wasn’t anything he really needed, he just decided to pass it by. Another few miles down the road, and he was back into a more rural area, fewer houses and, as a result, fewer people.
Brooksville was the last obstacle Thad had to get past. If he could clear that without issue, then he’d be home free.
• • •
As the sun dipped below the western horizon, the sound of the boats coming across the lake grew louder. Looking toward the east, across the lake, it was almost black. I walked off the dock to my pack and pulled the NVGs out and strapped them on. Norm came up to me. “Is there anything you don’t have in that pack?”
I just chuckled. “Plenty, brother, plenty.”
“I wish we had some of those. We just never had the money to get them. You know, before all this, we worked so hard. There was just so much to get. Looking back on it now, I see every place we slipped up, what we did that we shouldn’t have, and didn’t do that we should have.”
I stood there looking across the lake, looking for the source of the sound coming across it. “I can relate, man. I just hope what I did makes a difference, if I can just get home.”
We stood there talking about things for a minute—food, water, power sources, how much gas was stored, and how much we wished we had stored. Norm was talking about the difference between ethanol gas and regular gas when the sound of the boats suddenly grew louder; that caused Norm to stop. “Huh, that’s weird. Sounds like they just came around a corner or something.” He strained his eyes to look out at the lake.
Even through the goggles, I still couldn’t see the boats. The new, louder sound wasn’t coming from the boats. I started looking around, looking for the sound. It was still kind of low, very rhythmic. I cupped my hands behind my ears and swiveled my head back and forth. The sound was coming from the north, maybe another boat?
“It’s coming from over there.” I pointed to the north out on the lake.
“What is it, another boat?” Norm asked.
I was still looking out over the water when I caught movement; it looked like it was far out on the lake. “There it is, and it’s damn fast.” All I saw was something moving; it was below the horizon and looked like it was on the lake. The spotlight coming on and the helicopter flaring as it approached the boats left no doubt what it was.
“Oh, shit!” Norm shouted. We all scrambled for cover. I grabbed my pack and ran under some trees close to the ramp and dove on the ground behind a trunk. The bird had the boats in the light. They immediately separated, splitting off from one another. The ship stayed with one of them. To this point, the helicopter had done nothing more threatening than light them up with a spot. However, it was surely no coincidence that it arrived after the radio call; they were getting better at it, apparently.
Someone in one of the boats began to fire at the bird—rapid shots from a semiauto rifle. The helicopter banked hard away, killed the light, and, from the sound of it, made a wide loop over the lake. It finally revealed its location by the long stream of tracers pouring down from the sky. We clearly saw the muzzle blast from what could only be a belt-feed weapon. Tracers were hitting the water; some were skipping off and would make a slow, graceful arch out over the lake. We still saw muzzle flashes and heard the report from the weapon firing from the lake. It was soon silenced, however; the only indication of the boat’s location was the appearance of a small flame out on the water that quickly grew in intensity.
Norm and his crew were freaking out. They were shouting back and forth at one another while all this went on. Frank was losing his damn mind. Roy was holding him back. He wanted to fire on the helicopter. Daniel and Norm were in a very animated discussion about what to do. I was still lying under the tree when the bird engaged the second boat.
The second boat was probably three hundred yards out in the lake when the bird made its first pass over it, the machine gun on board belching flame and tracers in a long line. This time they were so close I saw the gunner. There was a door gunner sitting in the back of the Kiowa. I didn’t think they used a door gunner on those, but there he was. Being so close this time, Roy couldn’t hold Frank back. Frank let out a scream and ran to the water’s edge. He fired his AK from the shoulder in one long continuous burst until the magazine was empty.
Of all the things that were going on, the fact that these guys had modified their rifles to full auto surprised me more than anything. Frank was changing mags. The bird was still firing at the boat when a second helicopter screamed over our heads. Now the shit was deep. This was not the kind of fight I wanted any part of. As the second bird came overhead, Roy and Norm both began to fire at it. I rose to my knees and pulled my pack on. I was getting the fuck outta here. There was no way I was about to take on gunships with a damn carbine. I watched the gunship bank hard to its ri
ght as it lined up on a run on our tree line. Norm, Frank, and Roy were all standing in the open, firing blind into the night at the sound of the ship.
As the helicopter started its run, I moved around to the back of the tree trunk to have some protection. I was off to the right of those three idiots standing out in the open, and hopefully out of the line of fire. Looking out at the ship, it was coming straight out of the lake, like a boat heading for the ramp. The guys were standing abreast of one another in the center of the ramp. They didn’t stand a chance. I tried to scream at them to get them to take cover, but there was no way they could hear me over the sound of their rifles.
The helicopter was coming straight at them. He was about five hundred or so feet off the water. The pilot let the tail of the ship slip to its starboard, giving the gunner a clear line of sight on the boat ramp. The gunner opened up on the three men; tracers started slamming into the water in front of them. The gunner slowly walked the rounds into them. Norm dove for the ground. Roy and Frank just stood there firing. Frank’s AK ran out of ammo again. He was fishing a mag out when he was stitched up the middle by the gunner. Roy looked over to his left where Frank fell. He too was immediately cut down.
As the ship passed overhead, Norm rolled onto his back and fired at the belly of the bird as it screamed by. Right after the ship cleared the trees, I saw Daniel jump up from the tree line on the other side of the ramp. He sprinted out toward Norm, who was picking himself up off the ground.
“Norm! Let’s go! We gotta get the fuck outta here!” He was screaming as he ran.
An eerie silence filled the night. The ship that had been firing on the boats was nowhere to be seen. The one that just made the run on us was gone for the moment. Norm was standing there kinda shell-shocked. Daniel ran up to him and grabbed his shoulders. Norm just looked at him, holding his AK by the grip slackly at his side. Daniel was talking to him, shaking him, trying to bring him around. Seizing the moment while the birds were gone, I dumped my pack and ran over to where Frank and Roy lay.
