As Rockford raced through the trees toward his vehicles, Travis realized the man’s intention, cut across to the fire lane, and ran for the road to intercept him. Unobstructed by undergrowth, he made much better time and reached the parked convoy well ahead of the colonel. He worked his way quietly down the line of vehicles to the command Jeep, lowered himself beside it, and waited. It wasn’t long before Rockford came charging out of the woods, gasping with exertion. As he walked over to the Jeep, Travis stood up and leveled his gun at him. “Don’t move, Colonel, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
The colonel was startled at first, but when he recognized his antagonist, he recovered and smiled. “If you do, you’ll never see the boy or the woman again.”
Travis tensed, but kept his voice calm. “You’re right, Colonel. I need you to talk to me.” He pulled the trigger of his gun and tore up the ground at Rockford’s feet.
The man yelled and danced back. Travis smiled. “So talk to me, Colonel. Where are they?”
Rockford regained his composure and glared at him. “Do I look like a fool?” His eyes flickered for a split second to Travis’ left side, just behind him.
Travis dropped to the ground and turned as a lone, slightly wounded soldier at the edge of the woods raised his gun and fired. The bullets passed over Travis’ head as he opened up on the man, practically cutting him in half, but in the intensity of the moment, he loosed more rounds than necessary, emptying his weapon.
He turned, just in time to see the colonel charging, knife out, his face drawn back in a feral-like snarl. Travis rolled away, losing the grip on his gun, as the first slash of the knife caught the top of his shoulder instead of his throat. Instantly, he was out of the roll and up, spinning to face Rockford, who moved forward, his knife weaving back and forth in front of him, his eyes bright and cold. The colonel lashed out again, and Travis managed to avoid the full impact of the blade by jumping backward, hands wide and out of the way, but a thin red line appeared through the slashed fabric on the breast of his shirt.
Rockford rushed in. The knife missed Travis’ eyes by inches, but in the process of snapping his head back to avoid the blade, he lost his balance and fell. As the soldier moved in for the kill, Travis, on his knees, saw the empty M16 laying an arm’s length away. Just as Rockford reached for him, Travis grasped the weapon and brought it up, deflecting the arch of the knife, then he snapped the butt of the gun up sharply between his opponent’s legs. The triumphant gleam in the colonel’s eyes turned to shock as he grunted with pain and doubled over.
Travis drew back, simultaneously swinging the weapon in a swift, upward arc at his enemy’s head. There was a resounding crack as the stock of the gun met jawbone, lifting Rockford up and depositing him on his back—out cold.
Travis breathed a shaky sigh of relief, reached over and took the knife from the colonel’s hand, then rose unsteadily to his feet.
Cody had gone looking for Travis when he heard the firing out on the road. He found his friend leaning against the Jeep, out of breath and bleeding. Cody Joe dressed Travis’ wounds with a first aid kit from the vehicle, then together they bound the colonel spread-eagle to the hood of his own Jeep. A half-hour later, when Rockford came around, he saw the two men standing over him.
Travis grabbed the colonel by the hair and jerked his head back. He had Rockford’s knife in his hand and a merciless look in his eyes. “Where are they, Colonel?”
“Screw you and the horse you rode in on!” Rockford spat through bloodied teeth. “If you want to bargain, I’ll talk.”
Travis’ face went hard as granite. While holding Rockford by the hair with one hand, he reached around with the knife in the other. “I’ll make a deal with you, Rockford,” he whispered, as he laid the blade against the side of the man’s scalp, and in one clean slice, cut his ear off. As Rockford screamed, Travis slammed the soldier’s head on the hood of the Jeep, then he jerked the colonel up to face him. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what I want to hear, or your eye is next. That’s my best offer.”
The colonel’s voice came out in a gurgling, high-pitched squeal as Travis once again moved in with the knife. “No! No! Don’t cut me anymore. I’ll tell you. I’ll show you where they are.”
You’re goddamned right you will,” growled Travis.
He looked at Cody. “Hop in,” he said, pointing to the driver’s seat of the Jeep that Rockford was tied to.
Cody smiled. “Gonna get pretty hot for him tied to that hood.” “You’re right,” Travis said with a grim smile. “All the more reason for him to be in a hurry to get us where we want to go.” After some preliminary directions from the now obliging colonel, they headed for Rockford’s personal quarters on the periphery of Alpha Camp.
When they came to its perimeter a half-hour later, the place appeared deserted. The road they were on kept them away from the main compound. In moments, the big farmhouse Rockford had requisitioned came into view. They parked in the circular driveway, cut the soldier loose from the Jeep, and pushed him forward. With a fractured jaw and a ruptured groin, the man limped slowly and painfully toward the front door, grateful to be free from the nearly scalding hood. Cody and Travis followed close behind, prodding him with their guns. Once inside, Rockford led them to the pantry and the door to the cellar. He removed the lock and took them down the stairs to the large room below.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, they heard Christina call out, “Travis! Travis, over here!” The two men looked across the dimly-lit room to a dusty old couch where Christina and Todd sat, bound hand and foot. Travis’ heart leaped into his throat at the sight of the two, and he and Cody rushed over to untie their bonds. In their excitement, they left the colonel standing by himself at the base of the stairs.
As the two men worked on the ropes, Rockford slid slowly over to the underside of the stairway and reached a hand under the staircase to a hidden shelf, and the pistol that lay on it.
Christina’s attention was devoted to Travis as he slipped off her ropes and held her. Todd looked up as Cody worked on the ropes that still held him and saw the colonel bring out the gun. For a second he was drawn back in time, to a sinking boat and the eyes of his father; to the blood in the raft, and his mother as she closed her eyes and died. He could not, he would not, let that happen again. At that moment, something slipped inside the cogs of his psyche; something snapped and cantered loose, freeing the imprisoned machinery of his mind.
He drew a breath and screamed, “Look out, Travis! Behind you!”
The colonel was just snapping back the slide on the automatic pistol as Cody turned and reached for his Thompson. With that same triumphant gleam in his eyes, Rockford brought his gun to bear on Travis who, unable to reach his weapon in time, had moved in front of Christina to protect her. Rockford pulled the trigger as Cody stepped in front of Travis while firing. The reports of the weapons in the closed cellar were deafening, but in a second it was over. The big .45 slugs from Cody’s gun had slammed the colonel against the back wall. As the man’s knees buckled and he slid down the blood-smeared bricks, he stared in disbelief when he realized that Travis was still standing.
Cody brought his weapon down slowly and turned to his friend with a strange look in his eyes. “You okay, Trav?” he whispered. Travis was about to reply when he saw the single hole in the breast of his partner’s worn flight jacket, and the bloodstain spreading from it. Travis reached for his friend just as Cody’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.
In a second, Travis was at his side, rolling him onto his back and unzipping the blood-soaked jacket. He ripped off his own shirt and pressed it to the wound, lifting Cody’s head and shoulders onto his lap. Cody Joe opened his eyes, and coughed painfully. “Don’t worry, buddy. No one lives forever,” he whispered, looking up at his shocked friend.
“Don’t talk, Cody, don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here now.”
Cody wheezed in a gurgling breath as his punctured lung began to fill with
blood. “Don’t think it’s gonna do much good.” Cody closed his eyes for a moment and drew another tortured breath, then opened them again. A small trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth as he looked up at Travis once more. “If I don’t see you later, my friend, I’ll see you again—sure as the sun rises . . .” He smiled, and his eyes closed.
Travis lifted his friend into his arms and headed up the stairs for the Jeep.
EPILOGUE
The warm winds of an early spring blew across the land and new life sprang from barren winter branches with astonishing speed, as if nature itself was announcing its determination to survive. The winter’s survivors welcomed the warmth and promise of the new season with rekindled hope, and the intrinsic desire to rebuild and create anew.
The world had been dramatically changed. Entire countries had disappeared, continents were reshaped, and new, unexplored lands had risen from the sea. Yet, through all the chaos and tragedy, man’s spirit had endured.
A spiritual harmony had begun to settle over the land in a fashion not seen in this country for the longest of times. Never before, perhaps, to such a degree, had mankind uniformly decided that a change in the way we see our neighbor was necessary for the spiritual evolution and the physical survival of the race called man.
There was still no cohesive federal government, in the sense that it offered aid or continuity to the remaining states in America, but a new capital was being established in central Nebraska, and the surviving president had sent emissaries to the states in an initial attempt toward reorganization. Governor Turner, with the help of Judge Harcourt and a handful of like-minded politicians, had begun to reorganize Arkansas’ political infrastructure.
Interstate commerce was appearing again, and intrastate commerce, in the parts of the country less damaged, was beginning to grow. The land and the people had survived the worst, and recovery was underway.
Travis stood on his porch and watched Todd laughing and shouting as he played on the lawn with Ra. The preacher and Carlos helped Christina as she knelt in her cherished garden, coaxing up tomatoes, cucumbers, and various other vegetables that would carry them through the year. Only a few yards away, her mare frolicked with its new colt. She glanced at them and smiled.
He looked out over the yard, and his eyes settled on the little cherry tree, blooming brilliantly in the warm spring sun, its fragrance floating across the homestead. At that moment, he couldn’t help but think of the two men the tree represented: The one who bought it for him with a gold Krugerrand, and the one to whom he had given it. Cody, the small, energized ball of fire with a Viking’s yellow hair, an easy smile, and more courage and heart than the greatest storybook heroes; and, of course, the sensei—that quiet, proud Japanese man who taught Travis more about life, and about himself, than any other person he had encountered during this lifetime.
Just then, Cody walked through the sliding glass doors leading to the porch, a glass of Will’s wine in his hand. He was somewhat thinner than he used to be, and his breath came a little shorter from the badly damaged lung, but the fire in his eyes and the ready smile hadn’t changed at all. On that fateful day, almost a year ago, Travis had raced him to the medical center in Mena, and once again, William
J. Cody’s luck had held as the doctors saved his life on the operating table.
Cody smiled as Travis turned toward him. He often found his friend here. He understood, and knew to give him his times of remembrance.
As Travis nodded, he glanced back through the sliding doors at the two swords that hung above the mantel on the fireplace. He thought of the serene, powerfully confident man who had given them to him. Standing there, he felt the Oriental calm settle over him, as it did so often now. He sensed the sensei’s soft voice speaking to him, as he had so many times before from the cockpit of the boat they had sailed together.
“The road to the light is long, Travis, and there are many stops along the way. We share these interludes with kindred spirits, time and time again. Like two small branches of the cherry tree, the winds of time and the lessons of Karma will brush us together occasionally. Through the seasons of experience and learning we grow, sharing the fruit of our wisdom with those who have traveled far enough along the path to hunger for it. This is the way of life, Travis-san.
“Whenever you take joy in the blossoms of my tree and smell their fragrance, I will be there to share it with you. We shall meet again my friend.”
About the Author
Michael Reisig was born in Enid, Oklahoma, in 1948.
The first son of a military family, he was raised in Europe and California before moving to Florida. He attended high school and college in the Tampa Bay area.
After college, he relocated to the Florida Keys, established a commercial diving business, and traveled extensively throughout the southern hemisphere, diving, treasure hunting, adventuring, and writing about his travels.
His other interests include flying, martial arts, and fishing.
He presently resides in the Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas. He is the managing editor of The Mena Star, and continues to pen his novels.
Other books by Michael Reisig
If you enjoyed The New Madrid Run, be sure to check out Michael Reisig’s new “Road To Key West” Caribbean series…
The Road To Key West (Book I)
In August of 1971, Kansas Stamps and Will Bell set out to become nothing more than commercial divers in the Florida Keys, but adventure, or misadventure, seems to dog them at every turn. They encounter a parade of bizarre characters, from part-time pirates and heartless larcenists, to Voodoo bokors, a wacky Jamaican soothsayer, and a handful of drug smugglers. Adding even more flavor to this Caribbean brew is a complicated romance, a lost Spanish treasure, and a pre antediluvian artifact created by a distant congregation who truly understood the term, “pyramid power.”
Pour yourself a margarita, sit back, and slide into the ‘70s for a while as you follow Kansas and Will through this cocktail of madcap adventures – on The Road To Key West.
“Back On The Road To Key West! (The Golden Scepter).” Book II
An ancient map and a lost pirate treasure, a larcenous Bahamian scoundrel with his gang of cutthroats, a wild and crazy journey into South America in search of a magical antediluvian device, and perilous/hilarious encounters with outlandish villains and zany friends will keep you locked to your seat and giggling maniacally. (Not to mention headhunters, smugglers, and beautiful women with poisonous pet spiders.) You’ll also welcome back Rufus, the wacky, mystical Jamaican Rastaman, and be captivated by another “complicated romance” as Kansas and Will struggle with finding and keeping “the girls of their dreams.” Sit back and relax. You're in for the ride of a lifetime!
AND
Along The Road To Key West ( The Truthmaker ) Book III
WHAT IF YOU DISCOVERED A DEVICE THAT MADE PEOPLE TELL THE TRUTH?
Fast-paced humor-adventure withwacky pilots, quirky con men, bold women, mad villains, and a gadget to die for…
In the third book of Michael Reisig’s captivating series, Florida Keys adventurers Kansas Stamps and Will Bell find their lives turned upside down when they discover a truth device hidden in the temple of an ancient civilization. Enthralled by the virtue (and entertainment value) of personally dispensing truth and justice with this unique tool, they take it all a step too far and discover that everyone wants what they have.
Seasoned with outrageous humor and sultry romances, Along The Road To Key West carries you through one wild adventure after another. This time, Kansas and Will are forced to wrest veracity and lies from con artists, divine hustlers, and political power brokers while trying to stay one step ahead of a persistent assembly of very bad guys with guns.In the process, from Key West, into the Caribbean, and back to America’s heartland, our inadvertent heroes gather a bizarre collage of friends and enemies – from a whacked-out, one-eyed pilot, and a mystical Rastaman, to a ruthless problem-solver for a prominent religious sect, a
zany flimflamming sociopath, and a Cuban intelligence agent. In the end, it all comes down to a frantic gamble – to save far more than the truth. So pour yourself a margarita and settle back. You’re in for a high intensity Caribbean carnival ride!
Brothers of the Sword/Children of Time ($11.95)
(prequel to The New Madrid Run)
Two complete novels spanning 300 years—bound together by a lost Spanish treasure and the eternal journey of spirit and soul. A captivating tale of the past and the present—of romance, rescue, and revenge.
Brothers of the Sword: 1668—Englishman Trevor Holte sails for Barbados and the West Indies in search of adventure, but the challenges he encounters are beyond his wildest dreams—the brutal Spanish, a hidden treasure, a buccaneer king, and the beautiful Anne Catherine. However, some treasures outlive the men who bury them. . .
Children of Time: 1980—Three adventurers set out from Key West in search of a lost treasure on the Isle of Tortue, off the coast of Haiti. Equipped with an ancient parchment and a handful of clues, they embark on a journey that carries them back across time, and they uncover far more than a treasure—they discover the power of friendship and faith, and come to realize that, some things are forever . . .
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