Renewal 5 - an Untimely Fall

by Jf Perkins

  Back in the wheel house, he turned the key with a hopeful click, gave it some throttle, and punched the starter. The diesel rumbled to life immediately, and Terry gave silent thanks for something that actually worked. He engaged the transmission, and pushed the throttle forward. His departure imparted a new spin to the barge, but he needed time to get control of the tug. By the time he had learned a little about the boat’s handling and gained enough separation to aim for the barge, it was drifting steadily in the channel. Terry brought the boat to a stop in the river and learned that it took a little power to keep from drifting away from the barge. He watched the river bank and used that to tell when he was offsetting the current.

  Unfortunately, the barge was moving faster than he expected, and he had not yet discovered reverse. The two vessels collided with massive force. Only the tires strapped to the tug prevented disaster. Terry instinctively pulled back on the lever, and found reverse completely by accident. The tug separated again, and Terry groaned. It was a blessing in disguise, since he was way off center, and would have found himself going in circles again.

  On his second approach he ignored everything except the relative speed of the boats and managed to make gentle contact near the center of the barge’s bow. He gently added power until the rig stopped floating downstream and began to make headway. His next lesson was in how much steering it took to keep the barge under control. Too little and they spun. Too much and they spun faster and lost contact. Terry kept trying, picking up the knack for tugboat driving on the fly. He eventually pushed the barge back around the bend in the river and caught sight of the salvage yard docks.

  Nick announced this fact with the excitement of a baseball announcer faced with a grand slam. Bill looked at John, and said, “Told you.”

  Terry had picked up some finesse in his short time as a tugboat captain, and managed, in a series of tedious maneuvers, to nudge the barge back up against the pier. Nick jumped aboard and tied the barge off with some loose line on the deck. Terry backed away one last time and wedged the bow of the tug between the bank and the end of the concrete pier. He shut down the engine, and with a giant whoosh of breath, relaxed tension he hadn’t even noticed. He left the key in the ignition and hoped he was done with boats for the day. Nick leaned down to help him up onto the pier and gave him a painfully enthusiastic slap on the back. Terry wanted to sit down somewhere.

  Rob completed a hasty bandage job on John, and went back to put a few stiches into Bill’s carefully cleaned wounds. John picked up the job of watching the Grand Dragon, who was beginning to sound a lot like the blustering Judge back in Coffee County. He did not seem to understand that he was surrounded by men who would not follow his orders and scramble to meet the old man’s every whim. Terry was interested in what kind of excuses he was going to hear, but John put an end to that.

  “Terry, take Seth and go get Bertha,” he said, tossing the keys to Terry in an underhanded arc. “We’ll keep the old bastard talking until you get back,” John added with a sly wink.

  Terry lunged to his feet, gathering for another run. He picked up his rifle and set out for the western fence. Seth called him back and gestured for Terry to follow him through the front gate. “Faster this way,” Seth told him between breaths.

  John was nursing a burning pain in his side, but he wanted to free the police as soon as possible. He walked up to face the Grand Dragon, and said, “Give me the keys to the cages.”

  “I don’t have the keys, Defiler. The sergeant-at-arms keeps the keys.”

  John ignored the name, since he knew it wouldn’t mean anything to him, but still had to stifle the urge to kick the old man in the nuts. “Alright, Your Holiness, which one of these corpses is the sergeant-at-arms?”

  The old man lifted his double chin, and pulled his shoulders back, stretching his white shirt tightly over an impressive set of man boobs. “The correct address is Grand Dragon of the Knights of the White God.” The name was delivered to impress, but failed miserably. The man pretended not to notice.

  “Well then, King Flying Lizard, if you could point me to the corpse with the keys, I promise to remain as white as your god,” John replied with a straight face. “Oh, and since your little show last night was witnessed by all those police officers,” John swept his arm towards the cages, “I don’t know if they’ll be happy if I ask nicely again. Ever been shot in the foot?”

  The Grand Dragon took an involuntary glance at his feet, and John waited, stone still, until the old man sagged and gave up. “In the car... back seat. You shot him yourself.”

  “He got off easy.” John said simply. He gave Nick a sideways nod, a tacit order to go check it out, and turned back to the Dragon. “You cooperation is noted. You may want to stay in that frame of mind, since you were unfortunate enough to survive the day.”

  Nick came around the corner of the building in less than thirty seconds, dangling a massive ring of keys in his upraised hand. John smiled with relief, since he was not feeling up to cutting his way into the heavy steel cages. Nick trotted onto the barge and began the tedious process of trying keys until he found one that opened the first cage. It was made harder by the half dozen police trying to give him advice all at once, but he turned a tarnished brass key on the heavy padlock and laughed with relief when it popped open. The second lock went faster, since it was twin to the first one, and he could limit his attempts to the same type of key.

  With the doors open, cops stumbled out of the cages, in various stages of abuse and injury. From the look of things, Knights of the White God were partial to whips, ropes, and burns, with a few blades thrown in for sport. Rob stepped into the cages to check on the police who remained behind, unable to move. Two were long dead, adding to the Dragon’s murder count. The rest were in trouble, and in several cases, well beyond Rob’s first aid skills. He hoped the boys would hurry back with the armored truck, Big Bertha. He spent his time cleaning and bandaging every wound he could find.

  Nick was given the job of repairing the two trucks that John had disabled, but could be easily put back in service. John handed him the valve cores and wrench, and gave Nick quick instructions. Nick had the larger truck’s drive shaft reconnected, and was manually pumping the tires of the state pickup with a bicycle pump when Seth and Terry roared through the gate in the massive gray Bertha. Seth was driving, and couldn’t resist a double honk on the air horn, which startled everyone and sent a couple of wounded cops ducking for cover. Seth’s sheepish expression invited instant forgiveness as he turned the truck and backed it up to the small crowd by the dock.

  “Nice, Seth,” John said, and sent the big young man around the corner to help Nick. “Terry, good job, excellent job today. But... You’re the only one left to collect our gear, so get to it.”

  Terry jogged off toward the tank yard, and Nick brought the first state truck around, backing it in next to Bertha. Seth appeared shortly with the pickup and added it to the lineup. With Bill still weak and flat on his back, John took overall command.

  “Ok, folks! Walking wounded in the back of the big truck,” John announced, pointing to the larger flatbed with the wooden sides. “Anyone able enough to do so, please help us load the seriously wounded into Big Bertha, here.” He turned to Bill and said, “You want to sit, or lie flat?”

  Bill looked back with a pale face that served as an answer. “Ok. Seth, put Bill in the back of the pickup. Rob, direct the loading of the wounded. Nick, go help Terry collect our gear before he passes out.”

  Seth carried Bill to the pickup, and laid his leader in the back as gently as possible. He took off his ammo vest, and his outer shirt, rolling it up as a pillow for Bill, and zipped the vest back on his muscular torso.

  John waved Seth back over and quietly said, “You’re driving Big Bertha back. We’ll take the shortest route down I-24, bandits or not. If anything gets in our way, you use that armor and punch a hole for the rest of us. Got it?”

  Seth rubbed his hands together in anticipation.


  “But first, and this may even be more fun, I need you to get the Grand Lizard up on Bertha’s roof, lay him flat on his back, and tie him to the cargo rails. Don’t be afraid to make it nice and tight.”

  “Yes, SIR!” Seth acknowledge with enthusiasm. “And I thought this day wasn’t gonna be any fun at all...”

  Seth put on his non-threatening, good old boy demeanor, and stepped up to the Grand Dragon, towering almost a foot over the fat man. “Hey there. Name’s Seth. I have been asked to secure you to the roof of that truck, right there. My question to you is, do you want to be conscious, or should I just go ahead and knock you in the head?”

  The Grand Dragon wasn’t much of a climber, but he made it soon enough.

  John had picked some police to fill out his caravan, and managed to get everyone and everything stowed in reasonable order. “Terry, can you drive a truck?”

  “No, John. I never have.”

  “Today’s your day. Take the pickup and keep Bill safe like I told you before, ok?”

  “Well, hell. It can’t be any harder than a tugboat.”

  Chapter 5 – 5

  July 2012 was everything you’d expect from a Tennessee summer. Hot and humid, and yet dry of rain, sunshine only broken by the heat-built afternoon thunderstorms, which made life in a tree a bit more exciting than you might expect. Arturo was up and walking around, or hobbling at least, on a cane that George Carroll had given him. When Arturo tried to thank him, George waved it off. “ That’s a young man’s cane. Far too sporty for a codger like me.”

  Dad’s initial burst of construction had slowed to a virtual halt, thanks largely to the intense summer heat, and the fact that he was running out of ideas for our camp on George’s back forty. It was almost idyllic, thinking back, like an extended trip to a state park, minus the showers and flush toilets. Each week, we would head north to Brewer’s Creek for bathing and just cooling off. We went in shifts, because we had learned that our camp must be watched at all times, as demonstrated by the occasional small bands of opportunist rednecks, who felt that the easiest way to make a living was by finding what they needed, and stealing it from whoever had it.

  Thanks to Arturo’s continuous training dialog, we were all becoming practiced little soldiers. Even Lucy was a decent shot, and a good tactician, once she got past her concept that no one was really worried about how cute she looked when food was the real issue. It no longer worked for her to flirt her way to an agreement, and it took her some time to realize that life was all business for the time being. When that understanding dawned on her, she went through another phase, called the telling-everyone-what-to-do period. That was even less effective than her old methods. Eventually we all learned about each other, our strengths and weaknesses, and how that applied to whatever we were doing. In one quick summer, we went from a typical modern family with multiple and varied lives, to a well-oiled machine for survival.

  All well and good, until the stack of canned, boxed, and packaged food in our storage pit began to run low. By July, it was diminishing at a disturbing rate. Dad was the hunter. While Arturo spoke in military terms, Dad spoke of weapons as tools of the harvest. We learned to hunt and fish, even with the cheap tackle from Wal-Mart, and to gather a few edible plants and berries. We were also the recipients of the Carroll’s generosity, which was large at first, but tapered off as they discovered that their own supply of food was much less than endless. Add it all up, and as well as we worked together, it was not going to be enough.

  Then August arrived, and the broken nature of the world began to manifest. August in Tennessee is usually even hotter than July, but in a year marked by thousands of global nuclear strikes, the millions of tons of atmospheric dust kicked up by the blasts effectively dimmed the sun. At least that’s how Dad explained it. August announced its arrival with cold rain, gusty winds, and the kinds of temperatures we would usually expect around Halloween.

  It became very clear that living in a treehouse was turning into the worst place we could be. In the heat, it provided shade and light breezes that never made it to the ground. In the cold, a treehouse just gives the wind more ways to steal heat from the body, and for Arturo’s family, space blankets made a poor substitute for real insulation in a sleeping bag. Our sleeping bags were of the department store variety, and not even remotely adequate to the kind of cold that was bearing down on us. As a result, we all spent many nights huddling for warmth, and freezing anyway. Even after the hard work that had gone into our lovely treehouse, it was time to move.

  Even in this hardship, we were lucky. The Carrolls had once offered us the use of their barn for the winter, but the timing was off. Dad didn’t want to invade their barn in the middle of summer, disrupting whatever farming the Carrolls were doing. Dad hiked out one late morning, under dark, rapid clouds, and a biting wind from the northwest. He was heading for the Carroll’s house to talk to George and Martha, in hopes of making an arrangement. As usual, George responded like a saint. An hour after Dad returned, George showed up with his tractor, pulling a rusty old hay wagon.

  “Howdy, folks. Thought we’d get going on the move, if you’re up for it. I know we said two days, but Martha wouldn’t leave me alone about the children living out here in the cold.” George smiled, and stuck his pipe back between his teeth.

  Knowing my dad, he had spent the walk back building an intricate, organized system for the move, and I could practically see him tearing that plan off his mental notebook, and watching the page flutter away in the wind. All organization was abandoned. We simply took down the tents, packed up everything that would fit in a bag, and if it wasn’t attached to the tree, it went onto the wagon. The food and weapons in the pit took the longest portion of time, due to the narrow and slippery steps and the fact that each item came up one at a time. Finally, after less than two hours of work, the water barrels were drained and added to the pile on the wagon.

  When everything was loaded, I had a sobering moment at the sight of all our worldly possessions, stacked on less than half of a hay wagon. I expect it was even worse for my parents. We jumped up on the wagon, hoisting Tommy and Jimmy up with us, and rumbled slowly away from our home of ten weeks.

  Lucy felt much the same as I did as we looked back. She had tears in her eyes, and said the strangest thing.

  “Look at the trees. The trees are confused.”

  Chapter 5 – 6

  Charlie Bell eased open the door to Bill’s hospital room, interrupting the story. He looked cautiously around, like everyone does when they enter someone’s hospital room, saw that Bill was wide awake, and broke into a huge grin.

  “Damn, Bill Carter,” Charlie said, sticking out his hand, and then switching to his left when he noticed the bandage on Bill’s right shoulder. “When I send you to do a job, you do a job!”

  “Hey Charlie,” Bill responded with a grin of his own, giving Charlie a brief squeeze with his good hand. “You remember Terry Shelton?”

  “Of course Mr. Shelton, Reclamation Engineer, and superhero, from what I’ve been told.” Charlie responded with his boundless energy, shaking the life out of Terry’s hand.

  Terry yanked his right hand free, and unconsciously rubbed it with his left. “Hi, Mr. Bell. I got a few lucky breaks. I had no idea what I was doing, really.”

  “A modest hero. Can’t beat that with a stick.” Charlie said, still smiling.

  “Don’t listen to him, Charlie. Terry did great work all the way around,” Bill said, which finally pulled Terry into the smile fest. “And I’ll be honest, Charlie. Of all my men, I was the least useful one there. I got cocky and nearly left the land of the living.”

  “Well, my friend, that’s how leadership works. Bring the best, and work their butts off,” Charlie said, settling into one of the typically uncomfortable hospital chairs.

  “In that case, I was good wasn’t I?”

  “You bet! I’ve got seventeen cops and four other families, who would happily kick the chief out and put you in his pla
ce, this very day.”

  “No thanks. I’ve got an easier job already.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that. Anyway, the State owes you a great deal, and I personally owe you even more,” Charlie said, completely serious now.

  “So, we brought your son back?” Bill asked. “We never had time to check.”

  “You did indeed. He was badly wounded, still unconscious, but the doctor says he’ll be ok.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “Amen, brother.” Charlie added, with misty eyes. “His mother is half hysterical with worry, and half hysterical with relief. She’s down there checking the credentials of anyone who comes close, like a mother bear.”

  Bill chuckled and said, “Good for her. Somebody has to watch out for the babies.”

  “Anyway, a bit more business before I get out of your hair. We’ve got a team of investigators from my office working on the Grand Dragon, Darrel Johnson of Columbia, by the way, and he’s trying to trade information for his life. He has no idea who you are. He figures you are a state employee, like a SWAT team or something.”

  “Good. Let’s leave it that way. Last thing I need is Grand Dragons running around Coffee County looking for people with dark skin, not to mention me. I may feel the need to visit Columbia at some point though. I also want to know about the ones that got away on the yacht. I’ve got a promise to keep.”

  “Now, Bill. How about you let me try to keep it for you? It’s the least that I owe you, and the same seventeen police officers want a piece as well. You can see how that might be a good thing, right.”

  “Yes. Keep me posted please.”

  “Will do. Now, for your original problem. Everybody volunteered to go down to Coffee with you to pick up Jerry Doan Jenkins. I have a little fantasy that involves the Judge dangling from a rope next to the Grand Poobah.”

  Bill smiled. “I like that image. It makes me feel complete.” Charlie and Terry both laughed at Bill’s wry delivery. “Pick ten men for the trip. It’s more than we need for the Judge, but I fully expect his family to make trouble when they figure out where he is. I should be ready to go by tomorrow.”