“Absolutely, all the time, comes with the job. You don’t have to like them, but you’ve got to make them. Good, bad or indifferent.”
“I’ll do my best, Daddy.”
“I know you will,” he smiled. “Now let’s get this dinner mess cleaned up.”
While they cleaned up the camper, Tim thought about what he’d said to Robyn. He’d faced his own mortality on several occasions and cheated death, but he still didn’t like thinking about it. He hated dumping on Robyn like that, but he figured he’d have to say it at some point. Of course he’d protect her, protect her with his own life if he had to, he knew that for certain. But at some point, he knew he wouldn’t be around anymore, and it was his job to teach her everything he knew so she could make it out there on her own. The thought of her alone put a chill over him, and he quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. She was growing up so fast already. He didn’t want her to be a cynic at eighteen.
After they were done cleaning up, Tim shooed her into the shower to start get ready for bed. He helped her into her bunk, pulling up the covers and handing her Bad Bear. Seeing her with the old, ragged, stuffed bear tucked under her chin really made her look like a little girl, and he really needed to protect her at all costs. He turned off her light and kissed her forehead.
“Good night, baby.”
“Good night, Daddy,” she said sleepily.
He went to turn around, and she called out to him. “Tim?” she asked, using his name, which seemed odd now that she had been calling him Daddy.
“Yes, Robyn?”
“Will I ever be a great soldier like you?”
“What do you mean, honey?”
“Well, like you, a hero.”
“Honey,” he said, “I’m no hero.”
“But you are to me.”
“I hope you never have to face what I have had to, but if you ever do, I do believe you’ll be a hero in someone’s book.”
“Good night. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. Now get some sleep, we’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”
He walked to the bathroom and even before he shut the door, he could hear her gentle breathing and knew she was sound asleep. He wished he could sleep like that. He took a shower and washed off the rest of the day’s grime, put on a pair of shorts, and set his carbine next to his bed. He crawled under the sheets in the darkness and lay there for a while, his thoughts returning to the computer, the codes and the binder. Just what was he supposed to do with it? He still didn’t know, and like everything in his life now, he let the thought slide to the rear of his mind and decided he would make the decision about it when he had to, but not now. Just safeguarding it was pressure enough. He switched his thoughts to the nameless chestnut-haired girl he knew in high school, and with a smile on his face drifted off to a deep sleep.
He was awakened the next morning by the smell of brewing coffee and toasting bread. His stomach growled, and he got up from bed and stumbled towards the aroma where he found Robyn standing at the counter in the galley spreading margarine on toast.
“Good morning, Daddy. Want some toast with your coffee?”
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”
“Daddy!” Robyn laughed.
“Does a bear wear a funny hat?”
“Sometimes I wonder about you, Sar’ Major,” she said, sliding a plate of toast, margarine and strawberry preserves in front of him. He took a bite of the toast while she poured his coffee. When she put it in front of him he took a sip and smiled.
“Good stuff!” he said. “You’ve outdone yourself with the bread too. It’s yum!”
“Glad you like it,” she said, sipping her own coffee and taking a bit of toast. “Are we going to head out again this morning?” she asked between chews.
“Yes. I just needed a day to rest up from all the driving.”
“Where are we headed next?”
“Let’s take a look at the map,” he said, grabbing the atlas and opening it up to Indiana. “We’re here in Patoka, and I figure we’ll head north to Vincennes— that’s about fifteen or so miles north— and then head west into Illinois on Rt. 50.” His mind went back to his spur of the moment decision to keep travelling north on Rt. 41 instead of taking Robyn’s suggestion about traveling on I-64 west. That decision left him holding The Football, literally.
Some hell of a pass interception.
“It sounds good to me,” Robyn said, finishing her toast, brushing the crumbs from her fingertips onto the plate. They finished their breakfast and got dressed, stowing everything in the camper for travel. When they were finished, Tim re-hitched the truck, and they drove out to the front of the building where he got out and motioned for Robyn to follow him back into the store. They took as many gallon water jugs as they could carry from the shelves out to the trailer, where they took the time to refill their fresh water tank. After that chore was done and all the empty plastic jugs were tossed into a nearby dumpster, they got back onto the highway. It only took them a short while to reach the junction of Rt. 50, and they headed west, crossing over into central time, and Tim took the moment to stop and reset his watch.
Robyn asked why he did that, and he explained to her about the different times zones, and how back in the 1800s the railroads came up with them so everyone would be on the same time. She was duly impressed again by his knowledge, or what he told her was his never ending supply of useless information. She didn’t think any of it was useless, and soaked up everything he told her like a sponge. They travelled west most of the day, picking up I-64 in O’Fallon, then going through East St. Louis, crossing over the Mississippi River into St. Louis, Missouri, where they picked up I-70 heading towards Columbia, Missouri. It was growing dark when they reached the outskirts of Columbia and were forced to take Rt. 63 because of a major pileup of several cars and semis blocking all the lanes. They finally stopped outside of Moberly for the night, finding a grocery store parking lot to camp out in. After setting up and getting some supper, they sat in the camp chairs looking out at the night sky.
“Dad, are we ever going to find a place to live?”
“Eventually,” he said, shrugging.
“This is just so… boring,” she said. “There’s nothing out here but overgrown roads, overgrown houses, overgrown fields. It’s all so boring!”
“Yeah, that’s what I think of the Midwest myself.”
“Weeds everywhere, and in a few more years this parking lot will be a meadow.”
“Nothing we can do about that,” Tim said, but had to agree with her. “You’ve got to remember, it’s nature’s way of cleaning up the place.”
“I wish it would hurry up,” she said with a laugh. “I’m boooored!”
“Don’t rush excitement, Robyn.”
“I’m going to bed,” she announced, and walked into the camper. Tim followed her. She was in the bathroom when he entered, and he waited for her to come out. When she did she was dressed in one of his t-shirts again. She came up to him and on tiptoes kissed him. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little tired is all.”
“That’s okay, baby. It’s alright to get frustrated once in a while. It lets off steam.”
“I do feel better now.”
“Good, get into the fartsack,” he said, slapping her on her butt. She hopped into bed and crawled under the covers. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”
“Love you too, baby. Get some sleep. We got another big day tomorrow.”
He washed up, crawling into bed himself.
The next morning they headed out early, only a few cups of coffee in them to start the day. It was really starting to warm up, and the cloudless sky promised a hot day. They drove north through Macon and onto Kirkville, crossing into Iowa late in the day. They turned west onto Rt. 2 west of Bloomfield, Iowa, and headed down the two-lane blacktop towards Centerville, which looked to be about twenty or so miles west. The blacktop road was rapidly being overgrown with weeds from both sides of the shoulder, and a barbed wi
re fence lined the north side of the road, bordering an overgrown cornfield that was rapidly going fallow. Travelling due west, the sun was in his eyes, and he almost didn’t see the vehicle sitting in the middle of the road before it was too late.
“Look out, a car!” Robyn screeched.
Tim hit the brake pedal with both feet, stalling out the truck and almost jackknifing the trailer in the process. When the dust settled, he saw three figures standing there by what looked like an old Chevy Suburban. A lug wrench and jack were lying on the ground next to one of the tires, and it looked to him like whoever it was had just fixed a flat. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise as he slowly opened his door, reaching behind him for his .45 in a pancake holster.
“Stay here and don’t move,” he hissed to Robyn under his breath. “Hi there, fancy meeting you here!” he said to the people outside. “Need some help?”
He took note of the three unmoving figures and time seemed to crawl. There were two men, big, with long stringy hair and beards, and a gaunt looking woman with equally stringy unwashed hair, all standing by the rear of the Suburban. The two men looked amused, but the woman looked absolutely terrified.
“No thanks, pal, just got her fixed,” the one on the right said, looking over at the other one. They were definitely acting squirrelly, so Tim unholstered the pistol behind the cover of his open door and thumbed off the safety.
“Jake, he got a girl!” the one on the left said, giggling.
“Now hold it right there, we don’t want any trouble,” Tim said in a calm voice at odds with his beating heart. At that very moment, the woman bolted from the two men, running right for Tim.
“Help me please!” she screamed, and before Tim could do anything, the man on the left leveled a pump action shotgun that Tim didn’t see before and let loose a blast, catching the running woman square in the back from about fifteen feet. A look of astonishment crossed her face as the pellets exited her chest, and she fell flat right in front of him, a huge pool of blood rapidly expanding from under her still body. The man then racked another round into the chamber and Tim fired off a single round from his .45, missing his target in his haste, taking cover behind the door. The pellets from the second blast penetrated the door through and through, catching him on the left shoulder, and a piercing pain went through his head. It felt like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. He flew backwards onto the macadam with a bone crunching thump. From his position looking straight up at the sky, he couldn’t move, and his vision was blurring. He heard Robyn screaming out for him.
“Daddy! Help meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
He heard a scuffle and more cursing, but couldn’t move, as if he was paralyzed.
“I’m going to take the girl, Jake. You take care of him and get his stuff.”
“Okeydokey!” Jake said with a high pitched giggle. “I’ll get er’ done! Ha!”
“Daaaaaadddddddeeeeeeee!” he heard Robyn yell again. Then he heard the other man yell out.
“Ouch! You little bitch! That fucking hurt!” Tim heard what sounded like a slap to her face, and Robyn screamed out in pain again. “We gonna have some fun tonight fer sure!”
Tim rolled his head to one side, saw blood spreading out on the asphalt, and thought it had to be his. He could see his .45 laying inches away from his hand but he couldn’t make it move. His head hurt so badly. He heard car doors open and slam, and could hear Robyn’s wails. He heard the other vehicle start and drive away with screeching tires, and looked up at a shadow that crossed his face. He looked up at the face of a really ugly man. The man hauled back one foot, and with lineman’s boots, kicked Tim in the head and everything went dark.
Chapter 14: Q&A
Tim started to see grays, and then his vision slowly cleared. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but looking up at the sky, it was just turning twilight. Though the sky was still a dark blue, he could make out the first few stars of the evening. He tried to move his arm and though it hurt, he could move it. He began to assess himself lying there, and reaching up to his still pounding head, realized the pellet had to have been a big one, maybe OO buck. Luckily, it had just grazed the left side of his head. Hell of a headache, and would probably leave a nasty scar, but he’d live. He sat up and checked out his left shoulder next. He saw the hole, dried blood caked around his t-shirt. He moved it around some, and although it hurt also, he could move it. It was probably a through and through, not hitting any bone. He looked to where he’d last seen his pistol, but it was gone. Slowly he stood, and listened for any sounds. He looked into the cab of the truck, and saw that his M4 and Robyn’s carbine were missing, and then he heard a noise coming from the camper. Whoever it was— that Jake fellow he guessed— was rummaging around. He was now fully standing, and his headache was still there, but tolerable. He guessed it hurt worse because of the boot to the head. Reaching behind the seat as quietly as he could, he found the only weapon he had at the moment, his pair of bolt cutters. He circled around the off-side of the camper, carefully avoiding the windows and rounded the camper to find Jake standing outside, facing away from him. It was a good fifteen feet he had to run, and he crouched down in a sprint, coming up behind him, and clocking him at the base of his neck where the skull met it. There was a dull ‘thwack’ and Jake crumpled to the ground in a heap. Tim reached into the man’s waistband and retrieved his .45 auto, re-holstering it.
Inside the camper he found the place was a shambles, but quickly located the toolbox and took out two plastic zip-ties. Going back outside, he grabbed the man by the collar, and dragged him over to the wooden fence post, where he quickly zip tied his hands behind his back, around the post. Going into an outside compartment, he retrieved a rubber mallet and two tent pegs, that he used to stake down Jake’s legs through his jeans to the ground, legs spread as far as he could get them. That done, and knowing Jake wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, he went back into the camper and cleaned his wounds, using the first aid kit he’d made up with the stuff taken from the hospital back in Philadelphia. His head and arm now bandaged, he could take care of more pressing needs: Find out where that other little fuck had taken Robyn.
In his sleeping area, he found the old canvas satchel bag and opened it up to retrieve the Ruger Mk III .22 target pistol and a box of .22 ammunition. These he pocketed, and then filled a large plastic glass with cold water from the tap. Walking back outside, he took a folding chair with him and set it up in front of his unconscious prisoner, then went inside for a lantern, and he sat this down next to the chair, along with the glass of water. He turned the chair around backwards and sat down. Now he was ready.
Taking the glass of water, he tossed it into the man’s face, immediately waking him up.
“What the fuck you doing, man!” Jake shouted, spitting and sputtering.
“Now that you’re awake, you and I are going to have a little discussion.”
“Who the fuck are you? I thought you were dead!” he yelled.
“Well then, if you thought that, you were sadly mistaken.”
“Fuck you!”
“Fine, be that way,” he said, taking out a pack of Winstons and lighting one.
“Hey! You can’t do this! I got rights!”
“Oh, I see I’ve come across another person that has had the pleasure of the accommodations of the county jail. Or was in the state pen? Ah, it doesn’t matter,” Tim said in an icy voice, eying Jake with a cold stare through blue tobacco smoke in the rapidly fading evening light.
“Who the fuck are you? Are you a cop? You gotta be cop with a haircut like that!” Jake said with a sneer. “I’m not telling you shit! I got rights!”
“Now here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to play a little game called ‘Q & A’. I’ll ask you a question, and you will give me an answer. It’s very simple, really,” Tim said calmly, despite the rage that was building inside of him.
“What are you going to do, waterboard me?” he said with a little smirk.
“You can’t do this! I got fucking rights!”
“Jake, would you like me to call you a lawyer? Oh, sorry. I can’t. They’re all dead,” Tim said, pulling the magazine out of the pistol and loaded it, one round at a time, very slowly. Jake’s eyes followed his hands, and Tim smiled inwardly. He knew from experience that ninety-nine percent of torture was the mere thought of pain. But even so, he was willing to inflict a lot of pain to get Robyn back, and that was one thing he knew how to do… inflict pain.
“I’m not telling you shit!”
“Oh, believe me. You will give me the answers I want,” Tim said. He pulled out the pistol and inserted the magazine, racking the slide to chamber a round. He could see Jake break out in a sweat in the light from the lantern and smiled; the kind of smile that would give little children nightmares.
“I got rights! You can’t do this!”
“Okay. No more fucking around, Jake. Where did your friend take my kid?”
“Fuck you!” Jake spat.
In one fluid motion, Tim raised the .22 pistol and pointed it at Jake’s foot, only two feet away from the muzzle, and pulled the trigger. Jake let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“Ah fuck! You fucking shot me man! You can’t do that! I GOT FUCKING RIGHTS! Oh fuck that hurts!”
“Where did your friend take my kid?”
“FUCK YOU!”
Tim raised the pistol again and fired another round, into his ankle this time.
“Ah! Fuck! Jesus fucking Christ! That hurts man! You can’t do this! I got fucking rights!”
“You know what, Jake? I can go at this all night. I have over two hundred rounds for this pistol,” he said, holding it up so the man could get a better look at it.
“Ah fuck you! This is torture man! I got rights! You can’t do this!”
“Where did your friend take my kid?”
This is torture, man! You’re not allowed to do this!”
One Man's Island Page 29
