by JEFF MOTES
The morning light is getting brighter as I sip the coffee. It’s pretty good. There won’t be any brewed coffee until I get home. Eight more packs of instant coffee and creamer. I hope I make it home before the coffee runs out! Pulling the GPS out, I see there are close to thirty more miles to Montevallo. That ought not be a problem, as long as I don’t have any delays. There should be time to make it through the city, unless I get held up there. Once I get there and observe things, I’ll decide if I should go around. I hope not, since it will add a lot of miles to my trip. One thing is for sure, I’m not going to try and go through the city in the dark. The plan for today is set. First, clean up and pack up. Second, find water. Third, bike to Montevallo.
Simple enough—or so it seems.
Pulling the little scrub pad and small bottle of dishwashing liquid out of the cook pack, I use a bit of the remaining water to wash my cup. Putting a sling on the carbine, I set it by the trailer. There are two more pairs of clean boxers and socks, one pair of pants, and one more shirt inside my pack. I put the clean boxers and socks on, and wear the pants and shirt from the past two days. I pack the dirty skivvies and socks with the others from yesterday in a ziplock bag. I’m probably going to have to do laundry before making it home. After getting dressed I re-holster my Glock. The bag is packed and put in the trailer. It’s 7:00 and I’m ready to go.
At the end of the lane to the road, I stop and listen. Taking out my Vortex 10x50 monocular, I glass the road ahead and behind. Seeing nobody, I let the monocular hang around my neck and pedal onto the road. I feel the pain in my sore legs. But the pain in my rear end is so much more!
After about six miles, I spot a narrow creek flowing under the road. Glassing the road in both directions and seeing nothing, I head down the bank and work my bike into the tree line. It’s thick here, so it’s difficult to get the bike and trailer all the way in. Once they’re well hidden, I grab my pack and put all the plastic water bottles inside. At the water’s edge, I find a place where the bank eases down to the water, head down, and set the pack on the ground. Placing the water bottles on the ground, I remove the Katadyn water filter kit. Before dropping the inlet hose into the water I cover it with a coffee filter and secure the filter with a rubber band. The inlet hose already has a large particle filter, but I add the coffee filter for good measure. Placing the discharge tube into one of the bottles, I begin to pump water. After filling one bottle I hold it up and look at the water. It’s clear. I drink it down. It’s not bad, but it’s certainly not Dasani either. I proceed to fill all twelve bottles. After removing the coffee filter and drying the pump, I repack it. I’m ready to hit the road again.
Easing out of the tree line, I check the road ahead and behind, and seeing no one, proceed to the road and head south.
There are a few people heading north. Most are on foot, yet I’ve seen three bikes and one motorcycle. None have approached me or attempted to talk. I push my sore legs hard and cover nearly fifteen miles since the stop for water. I’m getting hungry, having only eaten energy bars. It’s nearly 2:30; I must have something to eat. Spying a road going into the trees, I proceed down the woods road after seeing no one around.
I pedal a hundred yards or so, then pull into the trees off the road. I take an MRE from the trailer. Southwest chicken and black beans. Might not be bad, but it’s going to have to be cold again as there is no time to build a fire. I should have packed some MRE heaters but the last ones I bought went bad after a few months. This meal also includes applesauce and a water flavor pack. I save the water flavor and get an Emergen-C pack and a multi-vitamin, realizing I forgot to take these this morning. After I eat and pack up the trash, I lean against a tree. I’m tired.
Taking the iPhone from my pocket I turn it on and set the timer for thirty minutes. A short nap will make all the difference.
***
I awake to the honking of a car horn. It’s my iPhone alarm. I turn it off, get up, and stretch. My legs are still sore, but my rear end is so much more! Putting a few drops of Milo pineapple/coconut flavoring into a bottle of water I take three ibuprofens. Time to get going.
Approaching the highway, I again stop at the tree line, listening and watching the road. I am lowering the monocular when a light flashes south. I replace the monocular to my eye. A Chevrolet pickup is turning south on the highway about three hundred yards ahead. The chrome of the side view mirror must have caught the light. It’s the same truck driven by the idiots I encountered yesterday. Great, that’s all I need, having to deal with those idiots. I get off the bike, retrieve my carbine, double check to make sure it’s ready to go, then place it on top of everything in the trailer. Hopefully I won’t need it, but I want to be prepared, just in case.
Heading down the highway, I approach the narrow road that the rust bucket pulled out from. I look up the lane into the field. About a hundred yards down is what appears to be an old run down barn. Hmm… I start to pedal again then stop. What about those kids? Did the idiots have anything to do with that? I don’t know if they did or not. Should I go check out the barn? Why? It’s only going to take time and there’s probably nothing up there anyway. Besides, they could have somebody waiting to ambush anyone coming around. Or the idiots could show back up while I’m up there. Do I have any obligation to risk my life to go check a barn that probably doesn’t have anything in it except maybe a meth lab? What are those kids to me that I should risk myself for them? What about Will? What will happen to him if I don’t make it home?
None of the answers to those questions matter. The only thing that does matter is doing the right thing. Dad repeated this phrase many times: “All that is necessary for evil to abound is for good men to do nothing.” I am a good man and I refuse to do nothing. Hiding my bike deep into the tree line across the highway, I retrieve the carbine and two extra magazines. Spotting a fallen treetop about fifteen yards farther into the woods, I take a picture with my iPhone. I hide my pack in its limbs, then walk back to the highway.
I pause, look, and listen. What I am about to do could mean nothing or it could mean life or death, including my own. The words attributed to Daniel Boone play back in my mind. “Know you’re right and move ahead. Leave the consequences to themselves.” I pray for God’s hedge of protection and set across the highway for the road.
Chapter 18
John
At the Barn
Day 2
I semi-crouch and dash across the highway, entering the lane leading to the barn. On the left of the lane is an old fence lined with trees and brush. On the right is open field. Feeling exposed, I get as close to the tree cover as possible and ease up the lane. Walking at a steady, determined pace, I make as little noise as possible and stay off the fallen leaves and sticks. I don’t want to give anyone up there any notice I’m coming. I’m hoping I’ll find nothing. This would be so much better if it was dark. If it was dark I could use the NVD and IR laser and take advantage of the covering night. I would certainly feel less exposed. My clothes are earth tone colors, Khaki pants that I wear every day, an olive drab fishing shirt, a tan ball cap, and Timberland boots. At least they don’t stand out like a flashing strobe.
The soreness in my legs and even in my rear end goes unnoticed as all my efforts are focused on making it to the barn unseen and unheard. Will and I have attended several tactical pistol and rifle training classes. Our favorites are those taught by Shootrite Firearms Academy near Guntersville. I even got to do a few drills with some of my law enforcement friends from the Jackson PD, but I know I’m no combat soldier or SWAT team operator. I’m only a regular guy who has tried to prepare himself for tough times. Well, right now is a tough time. I hope what I’ve learned will keep me alive.
Approaching a corner where the fence turns left, there is no more cover. There are still twenty-five yards between me and the barn. Twenty-five yards of completely open pasture. I study the barn. I can clearly see where lots of new tire tracks have crushed the green grass. The tracks lead to the ba
ck of the barn. The front of the barn is solid, no doors, no windows, but lots of cracks. It wouldn’t be difficult for someone to peer through one of those numerous cracks and spot me crossing the opening. Adrenaline is starting to flood my bloodstream. I force myself to remain calm. To get to the barn, I must cross the opening. There is nothing else I can do to get there. I can crawl, walk, or run. Either that or turn around, go back to my bike, and head home. But, I’ve already made that decision.
I choose to semi-crouch, semi-run. The grass is soft, so my feet make no noise. I put the monocular in my shirt pocket to keep it from rattling, then check myself for any other noisemakers. With everything in place, I start for the barn.
At the front corner of the barn, I halt. I can’t get right next to the barn because of the taller weeds growing at the walls. Dropping to a knee, I listen. Hearing nothing, I rise and follow the truck tracks to the rear of the barn. At the back corner, I drop to a knee again. Peering around the corner, it is evident the tracks lead into an open rear door. The door appears to have loose top hinges since it sags to the ground. There is no closing those doors. My heart is pounding as I rise and ease around the corner. Creeping up to the door, I stop again, listening for any sound. It’s hard to hear anything over the pounding of my heart, yet I listen intently. My breathing has quickened and I have to force myself to remain calm and slow my breathing, although my heart is still racing. This isn’t my job. This isn’t what I do. Entering a building like this is a job for professionals. But there aren’t any professionals here. I’m all there is. I stiffen my resolve.
With my carbine raised, I slowly cut the corner just like I was taught in those tactical classes, just like what my Jackson PD friends taught me. They are some brave souls is all I can think. It’s not very bright deep inside the barn, but I don’t turn my light on. I want to keep my presence a secret as long as possible. I scan the area to the right and then left, as more is revealed. When I break the 90 degree of the cut I see a body lying on the ground about twenty feet away. It might be the boy. Cutting a little more, I’m stunned at what I see next. Two girls are lying on the ground, naked. Their hands and feet are bound with duct tape and their mouths are taped closed. I almost lose it right there and rush in, but I know that would be foolish. The room must be cleared of any threats before I can help those kids, if they’re even still alive. I continue cutting the door and see a four-wheeler, the remnants of a camp fire, and nothing else. I scan up, to make sure I haven’t missed anything. Feeling the building is empty except for the boy and two girls, I enter.
I first reach the boy. His eyes are wide, staring up at me. He’s been beaten, that is obvious. His face is puffy and has lots of blood on it. I remove the tape from around his mouth and cut the duct tape from his hands and feet with my knife. He rises to his elbows and starts backing away.
I place my hand on his shoulder and look directly in his eyes, calming him. “Help me with the girls,” I say.
I move quickly to the first girl. The boy moves to the other. There’s no doubt they have been raped. I curse softly, wanting to kill those evil bastards. Removing the tape from her mouth, I talk reassuringly to her, letting her know I’m there to help. She doesn’t say anything through her swollen mouth. I cut the tape binding her arms and legs. She stares at me, not trying to cover herself. She must be in shock. Tattered and torn clothes are scattered about. The boy is with the second girl, struggling with the duct tape. The girl is crying. I tell him to come help this girl get some clothes on and I go to the second girl to cut the tape. She wails when the boy leaves her. Trying to calm her, I cut the tape releasing her hands and feet. She immediately goes into a fetal position trying to cover herself. Those evil idiots left some blankets on the ground. I get two and throw one to the boy and wrap the girl in front of me.
“What’s your name?” I ask the boy.
“Johnny Helms.” He nods at the girl he is helping and says “This is Rachael, and that’s Karen.”
“Johnny, my name is John. I have a pack in the woods across the highway. I’m going to go get it and bring it back here. I have some first aid supplies, food, and water.”
“Okay,” he says, then walks over to me. He extends his hand. “Thank you for saving us.”
I take his hand. “Yeah, sure.”
Heading back for my gear, I am very cautious, since I don’t know when those evil bastards will be back. About halfway down the lane, I hear the four-wheeler crank up. Turning back, I see it drive from around the barn. Johnny is driving with one girl in front and the other in the rear. They have managed to get their torn clothes on. He pulls next to me and says, “Thank you again, Mister. Me and my friends are going home right now.”
He drives off, turning north on the highway. At least that’s opposite the direction the evil idiots were going the last time I saw them.
I think about the scene that played before my eyes and can do nothing but shake my head and shudder. The evil perpetrated by evil men. Those kids can’t be much older than my son. I bend over and retch up everything I ate today. I have never before wanted to kill anyone. Sure, there have been some I’ve wanted to give a good thrashing to, but never anyone I wanted to kill.
That’s changed. I want to kill those evil bastards!
My hands are shaking as I cross the highway for my gear and bike. I go straight for my pack and reload the trailer, keeping the carbine strapped to my body. It’s not going back in the trailer. It’s staying with me until I get home. Before I push the bike back to the highway, I stop and fall to my knees.
“Dear God,” I pray. “Help us. Help us all!”
Chapter 19
John
She Lives
Day 2
I grab another bottle of water and down it. I’ve drank eight of my twelve bottles. I’ll need more water tomorrow. When I hit the road again, the sky is getting dark and clouds are forming. It looks like rain, maybe a thunderstorm later. I need to find a place to camp. Preferably a barn, crib, or something with a roof. My single man tent is not going to keep everything dry. One thing is for certain, I’m not staying anywhere near here. I have to put some distance between here and where I spend the night.
I pedal at a fairly good pace to find shelter before the rain, passing a few more houses and isolated pastures. Then I see something that might be promising. It’s an old crib under some trees about two hundred yards off the road. Using my monocular I study it and the surrounding area. It’s leaning pretty bad, but it looks like the roof is still on. A road heads in that direction going through a patch of trees. I turn into the road.
At first it doesn’t register what I’m hearing. The rumblings of a truck. A sound I’ve heard twice in the past two days. I shove my bike into the trees, unslinging the carbine, and run to the road, hiding in the bushes. I see it. It’s definitely the rust bucket and those evil bastards! It’s about two hundred yards south and closing fast. Anger rises inside me. It’s time to kill these bastards. Part of me wants to open fire on the truck as it approaches. I have six Glock 15 round magazines - ninety rounds. But a 9mm carbine is no match for a moving truck. There are two people up front. There were three yesterday.
Glassing it with the monocular I watch it as it goes by. They’re driving pretty fast. In the back of the truck, I see the other guy and what looks like a red bike and a bundle on the bed of the truck. Then I see a head with blonde hair sticking out from underneath a tarp. It’s hard to tell, but I think it’s the head of a woman.
My anger rises even farther. This isn’t going to happen if I can help it. There is no question about it. There is only one course of action. I will follow the truck and when I find them, I’m going to kill them. By the time I get my bike and hit the highway, the truck is out of sight around a bend. I have a good idea where they are going. If they go to the old barn and stay there I will find them. If they don’t, I’m probably not going to be able to help whoever is in the back of that truck.
“Dear God,” I pray, “send them t
o the barn. Lord, don’t let them leave. Keep them there.”
I pedal hard, reaching the barn road in about forty-five minutes. It’s starting to rain a little. Flashes of lightning are in the far distance. No thunder yet, but I know it’s coming this way. I pause at the road for a moment. The four-wheeler tracks have been smashed with truck tracks. I can only pray they will still be there. I consider how I should approach. Should I hide my bike across the road again then sneak up? No, I sense urgency. If I don’t get there in time, I might as well not get there at all. I pedal my bike toward the barn and stop where the fence turns left.
It looks like they went to the back of the barn the same way as before. The clouds are starting to get dark overhead. The glow of a fire can be seen through the cracks of the barn. I push the bike along the fence for about twenty-five yards, then get my pack and move another fifteen yards down the fence and set it under some brush. I approach the barn from the opposite side as before, from the left side of the barn.
I hear arguing from inside. I catch phrases. “We need to go,” “We have time,” “You’ll get your turn.”
Moving quickly toward the back of the barn, I stay well away from the side, reducing any chances of them seeing me pass by. The rain begins as the first rumbles of thunder arrive.
Looking around the side, I see the rust bucket parked right outside the door. A fire is just inside. There’s a man standing watch near the pickup. I curse softly. I can’t approach while he’s there.
God make him move!
He’s armed with an SKS rifle, more than a match for my 9mm carbine. There is no way I can win a firefight with these guys. I’m going to have to use stealth and the silence of my suppressor if I have any chance of coming out of this alive. I’m considering my options when I hear, “She’s awake, Hank!”
