Renewal 4 - Down on the River

by Jf Perkins

  It struck me again that the world had changed. Only weeks before, Mom would have resented the fact that she was expected to cook, and Lucy would not have even considered cooking. She would have starved first. Now, they both took it as their most serious duty. Was it important for what it was, or were they just afraid that if they didn’t cook, Dad would have them scraping wood smooth?

  In any case, it was a true holiday, and Dad was positively giddy with the excitement. We had actual proof, when dad splashed some moonshine into a plastic camp mug and gave it to Kirk.

  “Go ahead, try it. Since it’s the 4th of July...” Dad’s grin looked like the Grinch right before he stole Christmas from the Who’s in Whoville.

  Kirk took a sip, swallowed, and almost shuddered himself off the bench when the aftertaste hit. He waved his hand in front of his mouth until the fire in his throat settled.

  “How about you, Bill? Want a taste?” Dad asked.

  “No thanks, Dad,” I replied, having seen enough.

  Dad and George laughed loudly and took sips of their own.

  When the food was ready, we split into two tables. Kids at the Carroll’s modern table and adults at the homemade table. I’m pretty sure they were thinking about splinters when that decision was made. Our contribution was a big can of baked beans, which Mom declared passable, and a can of sliced peaches, which was our version of dessert that day. We didn’t have bread or hamburger buns, but those burgers tasted like the finest steak we had ever eaten, and the fresh corn was as sweet as candy to our young, cookie-starved taste buds. We ate and talked until our bellies were truly and completely full, and had taken up the space where words usually lived. Even little Jimmy was too full for any impromptu song and dance.

  Dad was eyeing the peaches for another round when we heard the rumble of an engine, a gasoline engine, approaching from the north. Everyone went still and silent for a few seconds to confirm what we were hearing, and then we went for our guns. George came back from his tractor lugging a revolver as long as my arm. The engine dropped to an idle for a minute, and then roared again. It was definitely coming closer. Within another minute, we could hear the slither of grass as well. At that point, Dad lowered his rifle barrel.

  “That’s our car,” he said.

  “Are you sure? It’s very loud,” Mom asked.

  “Pretty sure. We’ll know in a minute.”

  Our old station wagon rolled right past the faint logging road on the edge of the field, scrunched to a stop, backed up and then then turned into our woods. As it approached, I could see that it was our car, but it was different. It was dirty, splashed with road grime and some kind of white powder, which Dad would never have tolerated. Even closer, the bullet holes became apparent, and there were lots of them. The car crossed the invisible boundary of our campsite, and just as we were about to run for cover, it stopped hard enough to rock on its springs a couple of times. The driver’s door burst open and a young woman with dark hair and tan skin ran at top speed across the camp. Jimmy barely had time to smile in recognition before his mother scooped him up and almost squeezed the stuffing out of her little boy.

  We all stood around feeling silly with all the weapons while Juannie reunited with her child. It went on for quite some time, long enough to set our rifles back by their customary places by the trees. Juannie was talking to Jimmy in a high speed blend of English and Spanish, and it sounded like one of us talking to a cute puppy. When they finally broke for air, and she set Jimmy down, Dad asked the obvious question.

  “You’re Juannie, I’m guessing. Where is Arturo?”

  The young Hispanic woman looked up, and even with the tears, David could see why any man would drive into hell to find her. She was beautiful, young and curvaceous in the most appropriate way, with big dark eyes that could make a white Republican open the borders.

  “Oh, he’s in the back seat. He’s been whining like a little girl for 300 miles,” Juannie said with a charming accent and an oddly carefree smile.

  Dad walked over the car, and opened the door. Arturo was there all right, but he had lost at least twenty pounds. His face was pale and glossy with a sheen of sweat, and his left leg was covered in blood.

  “Ah, shit,” Dad said. “Arturo! Hey, Art! It’s David. You ok?”

  Arturo opened his eyes. “Hey, David. What’s up, my friend?”

  “What happened, Art?”

  “Oh, some white asshole shot me, right through the car door. He might have been a cop. Who knows anymore?”

  “Shit, Arturo. Let’s get you out of there and take a look.”

  “It’s ok. Juannie stopped the bleeding. It might be a little infected though.”

  “Come on. Help me out.” Dad grabbed Arturo’s hands and pulled him into a seated position. Dad squatted down and threw Arturo over his shoulders, carrying him to the nicer of the picnic tables. Mom cleared it before Dad even got there. Dad laid Arturo on the table as gently as he could. Dad took his knife and cut off what was left of Arturo’s pant leg. Mom showed up with a wet cloth and Dad cleaned around the wound. Once the caked blood was gone, Dad took a sharp breath. The wound was oozing with puss, smelled terrible, and Arturo’s leg had red streaks all over it.

  “George, can you hand me that jug, please? Beth, we’re going to need the first aid kit and probably some sewing stuff.”

  Everyone was gathered around. Juannie was just realizing that her husband had a serious problem. After everything they had gone through to get here, I guess one little bullet wound didn’t seem like a big problem. George handed Dad the moonshine.

  “Arturo. This is going to sting like crazy,” Dad said before pouring the pure alcohol into the wound.

  Arturo screamed like a bobcat in a blender. Dad went to work with the first aid kit. He was debriding the wound as best he could, and building a disgusting pile of dead tissue next to Arturo’s leg. Arturo had passed out after the first scrape or two, which was a good thing. When Dad finished cleaning the wound, he poured another round of alcohol in the hole, swabbed some around and started sewing the entry and exit wounds shut. Mom watched in amazement. She had no idea her husband could do surgery of any kind, and here he was, sewing Arturo’s leg.

  “Ok, he’s got a shot at making it now, but it’s not a great shot. We really need some antibiotics.”

  George said, “I’ll be right back!” He jumped on his tractor and roared off in top gear, bouncing crazily as he disappeared around the corner.

  Dad noticed Mom staring at him. “I was on nuke subs. Lots of us had big time first aid training since we couldn’t call for help when we were on patrol,” he said, as if that explained it.

  “Oh... Just think of the doctor bills we could have saved,” she said.

  “Yeah, well if you know a doctor around here, I would gladly give him a burger to do this job.”

  That broke the tension for most of us. Juannie was wrapped up in guilt and worry now, and even Jimmy seemed to read the seriousness of the situation.

  George was back in less than ten minutes. He practically catapulted off the tractor while it was still grinding to a halt. Geroge could apparently forget his cane when properly motivated. He ran over to the table and started pulling medicine bottles from his front pockets. We watched in awe at the sheer number of drugs he was producing. Dad was picking each one from the pile and sorting them into antibiotic and non-antibiotic piles. When they were done, George had six different kinds of antibiotics. He looked up at George.

  “What can I say, David? I’m old.”

  Dad went with the second newest bottle, since it had the biggest supply. He was guessing at the correct kind of drug, but he figured something was better than nothing. “George, when is Rodney due at your place?”

  “He may be by today. It depends on how busy he is. I guess the 4th is about more than kids with fireworks these days. Anyway, if he does come by, then he’ll see the note and head out this way. If not, he’s due in a couple of days. Why?”

  “If you don’
t mind. See if he can find us some injectable antibiotics. That would be the best thing. Even without them, you’ve given him a good fighting chance. Thank you.”

  “Aw, it’s the least I can do. Never thought my ‘shine would clean a bullet wound either...”

  “I wonder if there are any real doctors around.” Dad looked around as if he could spot one in the bushes.

  “Well, there’s one I know of, but he’s senile. I used to go to him until I realized that he kept telling me I had an anal fissure every time I went for a visit.” George said with a shrug.

  Dad laughed and said, “Maybe Rodney can tell you about how the medical business is doing around here...”

  “I’ll ask him for sure.”

  Dad wrapped Arturo in a sleeping bag and crushed a couple of pills into a cup. He dissolved them in water, and dribbled them into Arturo’s mouth, letting his swallow reflex handle the rest. Between, Dad and Juannie, Arturo was watched every minute.

  Chapter 4 - 8

  “Wake up men! We’re nearing Trouble Point,” Shaun announced to his sleeping passengers.

  Terry took a long look at the surrounding terrain. They had been following a long stretch of land on the left side of the boat. There was a small island ahead on the left and a larger island farther ahead on the right. He could see that the passage between the stretch of land and the right hand island would be tight, a good place for an ambush.

  “We’re circling around this peninsula,” the pilot said, pointing to the land on the left, “And it’s a choke point for the entire lake. It’s not unusual to run into some gun toting pirate wannabees.”

  Terry moved up near the gun rack, while the sleepy crew in the front stowed their packs out of the way. Bill took out his binoculars and began to scan the shoreline for signs of movement.

  “Anyone here know how to operate a 50-cal?” Shaun asked.

  Bill and John indicated that they had fired the heavy machine gun before.

  “Ok, John, you have the duty. If we come under fire, you will find the gun in the canvas bag, along with several cans of ammo. Mount the shaft in the socket, and the gun on the shaft. Short bursts, if you please. If we don’t need it, leave it in the bag. I find that it’s better to look innocent until we need to look dangerous.”

  John moved to a position low in the bow. He wisely sat hunched on the floor to avoid being the most obvious target. Everyone else retrieved their rifles and placed them inconspicuously near to hand. Terry watched the pilot’s detailed examination of the shoreline, and wondered why the man didn’t go faster. It occurred to him that Shaun enjoyed drawing out the bad guys, especially when he had a boat full of armed men to fight back.

  “I see movement on the island.” Bill announced calmly.

  “Got it,” Shaun replied, as they approached the narrow channel, and he bore just slightly away from the group in the trees. “I’m not too worried about those guys. They know better.”

  The boat was tight in the passage, only a couple hundred feet separating them from either gravel and mud shoreline. Shaun waved lightly at the group standing on the island, within easy rifle range. They waved back with obvious disappointment, and turned back into the woods behind them. They had tangled with Shaun before, and had lost every boat in their possession.

  As fast as the channel constricted, it opened up again, and Terry noticed the release of tension in the men. Apparently Shaun did too, and he said, “We’re not out of the woods yet, gentlemen. That was just the Percy Priest Welcoming Committee.” The land pulled away sharply to port, but Shaun maintained his course straight ahead until the boat was back out in the center of the main channel. Now they were looking ahead to another narrow passage, the peninsula still on the left and a sharply defined cove on the right. Beyond those features, the channel seemed to turn to the left and it was impossible to see beyond the turn. It was long half mile to pass the end of the peninsula, at their stately idling pace, which gave everyone plenty of time to survey the shoreline for trouble. They saw nothing for a good ten minutes.

  Eventually, they came even with the point, and Terry could see the end of the curving channel opening onto a much broader stretch of water. On the other side, to starboard, he was also watching a boat ramp. A crowd was beginning to form on the concrete ramp, and because there were no boats among the group, Terry wondered what they were doing. Then he had a sudden intuitive notion that they had come to see the show, and that Terry and crew were the main attraction. He looked anxiously to Shaun, who was well aware of the growing numbers on the ramp. He didn’t seem surprised when the sound of multiple starting engines broke through the low rumble of the state boat.

  “Here we go, gentlemen. John, mount it up, if you please,” the pilot casually ordered, his hands gripping the controls. “Everyone hold on tight.” Shaun held the boat slow and steady for the minute it took to get the machine gun mounted and loaded. John cranked the lever, braced his feet, and signaled that he was ready.

  The motley pirate navy was boiling out of the cove that was now about 700 feet behind them. Terry held on to the pole that held the canopy over the pilot’s station and counted nine boats of random variety. They were accelerating directly towards Terry and his friends. Shaun made a quick check of his people, and shoved the throttle to the stops. The aluminum boat was deceptively fast. The diesel was swinging a huge prop. The engine was did not sound all that powerful, but it translated into massive thrust. In the space of a few seconds, the boat was up on a plane and speeding away from the pirates. One of the enemy boats was fast enough to pursue them. It popped up and started gaining on Shaun’s boat in a hurry. The rest of the flotilla followed at the best pace, which was to say, not fast at all.

  The speed boat closed quickly from directly behind. It was out of the line of fire from the big machine gun, and probably knew it. Two men leaned over the side of the boat, and started firing at Shaun’s state boat. The pilot yelled something at John, but it was lost in the rush of wind. He tried again with hand signals held in front of his chest. John seemed to get the message. He nodded, and crouched down. Terry held on even tighter as Shaun executed a sharp right hand turn at high speed. Rob slid off his seat and bounced against Terry’s ankles as John waited for a clear firing arc, and then had it. The machine gun fired a burst of heavy slugs across the speed boat. It was perfect shooting. The boat’s driver disappeared under a cloud of red mist. One of the gunmen was literally blown out of the boat by the force of the shot. Terry had a brief impression of the man coming apart as he tumbled over the far side for his boat. Best of all, the speed boat’s engine clanked loudly, followed by a grinding sound, a billow of smoke and steam, and then quit entirely. Their former pursuit plowed to a dead drift in the water, and Shaun turned back to the left to their original course.

  In the brief exchange, a new squadron of boats had lined up across the end of the narrows, blocking the way into the open lake. Shaun muttered some angry words and turned again. There were pirate boats in both primary directions now. The first group was closing in, and the new group, all of which looked faster than the state’s boat, were waiting for the slower boats to close the trap. Bill bellowed orders. He seemed to have enough information to take charge of the tactical situation.

  “Let’s take the pursuit out first! Circle them at 300 yards!” Bill shouted at Shaun, and spun his finger in the air to indicate a direction.

  Shaun spun the wheel and headed towards the boat ramp to set up his orbit around the pursuers. The crowd on the ramp was busy cheering, yelling and throwing rude gestures at the state boat. John took it personally and sent a burst of .50 caliber fire through the mob. A third of them dropped dead; the rest ran for their lives. John smiled.

  “Stop wasting ammo!” Shaun yelled, with a smile of his own, and he arced the course to open a firing lane on the group. The pirates had a small army of men scattered across their boats, and a good firing position for the pile of pirates on top of a huge houseboat. John recognized the threat and started there
. He was good with that gun. He shut down their fire with two bursts across the roofline, and sent a bunch of rounds into his best guess at the engine compartment. When the engine kept running, he shredded the front of the fiberglass hull. The lake did the rest. Water pouring into the hull with the force of the houseboat’s forward motion tore away the loose material, and quickly opened the entire boat to a sudden rush of water. The houseboat plowed itself into the lake in seconds, and left the remaining men trying to swim with heavy rifles. They weren’t good swimmers. In the process, John had damaged and killed other boats and men. He systematically used his shooting skill, threat analysis, and a reasonable understanding of boats to reduce the pursuit force to two boats. Those two boats turned to the east, retreating as fast as possible. Seth finished one with a rifle shot that hit the driver, who slumped to the side, spinning the steering wheel as he fell. The boat turned hard to port and a rush of water dumped into the boat as it leaned far into the outside of its turn. The boat didn’t sink, but only an inch or two was visible above the light waves on the lake. Bill’s crew took shaky shots at the last retreating boat, but it had retreated far outside of effective range for any rifle in a bouncing boat. They watched it go with a conflicting sense of triumph mixed with frustrated vindication.

  Shaun wheeled his boat back around to the west, and noticed that the second group of boats was advancing in their direction, still in a rough line across the channel. Someone was working hard to keep them in order, with the possible idea that a line would prevent anyone from getting past them. Shaun had other ideas. He pushed the throttle to the stops again and headed directly towards the middle of the enemy line. As soon as the range became reasonable, John opened up again, sending single bursts into the boats arrayed ahead, ignoring the pirates too far from center. He was effective again as several boats were chewed up by his heavy rounds. The boats in his line of fire quickly fell into two categories: boats unable to move, and boats getting out of the way as quickly as possible. As soon as the pirates started to move, Shaun picked the gap and shot through the dissolving line at well over forty miles per hour. The untouched pirate vessels out on the ends of the line were sending small arms fire towards them, but other than a metallic impact or two, they failed to do any damage. The state boat and Bill’s crew rounded the next point and emerged into the main body of the lake. They went from broad river to open water, and the empty no-man’s land gave way to a peaceful scene of sailboats and tiny fishing vessels. In the space of a mile, they left the pirates’ territory and entered the freshwater version of civilization.