“LISTEN!” Sergeant Connelly suddenly whispered. “Is that what I think it is?”
Eric stopped. They were on the power line right of way now, and he’d been slogging up the first long hill, focused on putting one step in front of the other until he made the top of the slope. He was glad to take a break for a few seconds, and as he squatted to set down the travois handles, he heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter in the distance. It was somewhere to the south, probably making a pass over the lake. So, they came back to look for him one more time and now he was deep in the woods instead of on the lake!
“Well, I’ll be damned! I didn’t expect them to come back again at all, much less in broad daylight!”
“Too bad it won’t do us any good out here,” Sergeant Connelly said. “Not unless that pilot just happens to circle back over this power line this way on his way out.”
“Not likely,” Eric said. “I’m sure he’ll stay high enough to avoid small arms fire too. Maybe Lieutenant Holton sent him back in the daytime to get a look at the compound, to see if I took out the gunboat or not. I doubt he’s really expecting to find me.”
“Maybe not, but if we were on the lake we could probably get his attention.”
That was true, but it wasn’t going to happen now. Even if he left Sergeant Connelly and sprinted back in the direction of the lake, the kayak was disassembled and far from the water. The shoreline there was heavily wooded. Unless he was able to paddle out into open water quickly, like in the next few minutes, there was no hope of being seen by that helicopter crew. Eric listened to it several minutes until it droned away in the distance, and then he picked up the travois and resumed his muddy trudge up the steep hill on which he’d stopped. Even though the arrival of the helicopter didn’t change their need to keep moving, Eric thought that it might keep the attention of any searchers focused on the lake, and at least that was a good thing. Eric wanted to take advantage of that and put as much distance behind them as he could. He forced himself to go on until he estimated they were over halfway along the portage route. There was still no sign of recent use on the rough dirt tracks that a four-wheel-drive vehicle might use in drier weather, so Eric decided it would be safe to take a break. He had to at this point, as he was nearing exhaustion from lack of sleep and insufficient fuel for the amount of hard work he was doing. They had to find more food as soon as possible, and it would become a priority after they started down the river, as they were still facing days of travel if they had to paddle the whole way. Eric shared one of the two MREs with Sergeant Connelly, insisting that he eat even though he said he didn’t need it since all he had to do was lie there and ride.
“It looks to me like they’ve kept you on a pretty lean diet already. You don’t need to get any weaker. You’ll never heal like that.”
“This knee isn’t going to heal itself no matter what I do. I’ll be lucky if I ever walk normal again.”
“You’re lucky the bullet passed all the way through. You’ll recover once you get proper attention. There must be a doctor on the post or an open hospital somewhere in the vicinity,” Eric said, telling him how surprised he’d been to find a semi-functional hospital in Lafayette, where on top of all the other problems, they were dealing with an infrastructure devastated by a hurricane. This mention of Louisiana was the first bit of conversation between the two men that was not centered on their immediate predicament. Sergeant Connelly naturally wanted to know more—why Eric had been there, and why he was here now—but as soon as he was done eating, Eric was ready to curl up on the wet ground to get a brief nap. He’d pulled the travois into the concealment of the woods before stopping, and Sergeant Connelly agreed to keep watch and wake him in two hours.
“I’ll tell you about it after I get some sleep. It’s kind of a long story.”
The short two-hour sleep wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Eric had often functioned with less than two in twenty-four. The mind and body could be trained to do it, but it was seldom a pleasant thing. When the nudge at his shoulder told his abbreviated nap was over, it seemed to Eric he’d just closed his eyes.
“I haven’t seen or heard a thing,” Sergeant Connelly said when Eric asked. “The rain hasn’t let up either, but you didn’t seem to mind. I know you must have been wiped out.”
It was true that he’d been so tired that sleeping out in the open in it didn’t faze him, other than the fact that now he was feeling the chill from inactivity. That would change as soon as he started dragging the travois again, and he didn’t want to waste much time getting moving, but Sergeant Connelly insisted on getting the answers to some of his questions, so they talked quietly while getting ready to move out.
“That’s a hell of a story, Branson. I see why you let Lieutenant Holton talk you into this operation now. It’s too bad it didn’t work out better for you. Now I really feel bad about holding you up. You must be sick about missing that extraction.”
“It’s not the first setback I’ve run into, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I’ll get to Boulder, Sergeant Connelly, but I’m taking you back to that post first so I can hold Lieutenant Holton to his word. If Jonathan and my ex have already left when I get there, I’ll just have to catch up with them later. Let’s go. I’m ready to move out if you are.”
Eric knew from double-checking the topo map that they needed to stay on the power line until they came to a creek in the third deep hollow from where they’d entered the right-of-way. Then they would need to follow that creek downstream until it joined a larger tributary that emptied into the river about a mile below the dam. An hour later, they’d reached this creek, and Eric pulled the travois far enough into the woods to hide it before setting it down and helping Sergeant Connelly up on his good leg so he could hobble around a bit with a paddle for a crutch and stretch.
“I’m going to slip down to the river alone and have a look first,” Eric said. They both knew from the map that this last leg of the route was the most dangerous, passing much closer to the men guarding the dam than any other section of their portage. “If there’s a canoe to be found, I need to find it in the daylight. If not, I’ll be going back for the kayak.”
“Take the rifle. You’re more likely to need it than I am. If anyone spots me in here, they’ll have to be well within handgun range to do it.”
It took Eric nearly two hours to reconnoiter the rest of the route to the river and the cabins and camps in the area. He found the larger stream that he knew merged with the main river below the dam and keeping well away from its banks in the cover of the undergrowth, he followed until he finally had a view of the broad Tennessee. The place where he emerged on the riverbank was one big bend below the dam so he couldn’t see the structures there, but he could see that the river appeared to be wide open downstream. There were vacation cabins scattered in the woods across the river and just upstream of where he stood, and he could tell by the wood smoke from the chimneys of some that they were occupied. But what really caught his attention was the nearest of them, a deserted looking cabin with no smoke visible and exactly what he’d hoped to find: an old canoe, upside down on sawhorses next to the side of a small shed, and leaning against the wall beside it, two paddles. This particular cabin looked run-down compared to the others, and after studying it for several minutes, looking carefully for signs of a dog or anything else that would interfere with his plan, Eric decided it was indeed abandoned.
The canoe was on the wrong side of the river of course, but the prospect of swimming didn’t bother Eric. He would wait until after dark, and once across, it would be easy to slip up to the shed and carry the canoe down to the river, as the cabin was a good hundred yards from its nearest neighbor. Whatever risk and effort it took to procure that canoe would be far less than the effort required to go back and get the kayak and would save hours. Eric made up his mind on the spot that this was the way to go. If he hurried back to get Sergeant Connelly, there would be plenty of time to move him to the river before dark and
once he had the boat, they’d have most of the night left to paddle as far from here as possible by dawn.
Eric still wasn’t as tired as he knew he should be. The short nap had done him some good, but he was running on adrenalin too, determined to keep going until he and the sergeant were in a place of relative safety before he took a real break. There hadn’t been time yet, but he was looking forward to hearing more of what Connelly knew of the wider problems in the region and beyond. Eric didn’t know if he could tell him anything that would be helpful in his journey to Colorado, but the more he learned of any part of the country the better. Lieutenant Holton had also promised to fill in some of the blanks for him before he set out after returning to the post, but that could be days away now.
Eric made his way quickly back up along the little creek, still feeling confident that no one was searching for them in the woods yet. That confidence was shattered when he was nearly back to where he’d left the sergeant. A gunshot rang out from up ahead, and Eric knew immediately that it was a pistol. A few seconds later, the first shot was followed by two more, and then there was silence. The shooting seemed to come from the same place, with no return fire, and Eric suspected it was Sergeant Connelly firing the Beretta, but at what? He advanced with the M4 at the ready now as he crept through the trees, taking advantage of natural cover as much as possible as he closed the gap to where he’d left the sergeant. He’d still not seen or heard another sound when he reached a point where he could just make out the travois through the foliage, still laying on the ground where he’d left it near the base of a tree. Eric took a couple of steps towards it until he was stopped in his tracks by a loud whisper:
“Over here, Branson! It’s all clear!”
“Connelly!” Eric moved closer, looking for the source of the voice until he spotted Sergeant Connelly leaning against a tree trunk, a scoped hunting rifle in his hands. Not far from his feet was a body sprawled face down in the wet leaves. The camouflaged hunting clothing that the dead man was wearing blended in so well that Eric would have walked right by it if he hadn’t seen Connelly standing there first.
“What happened? Was this guy alone?”
“No, there were two of them, the other one was carrying a compound bow, although he may have a pistol on him too, that I didn’t see.” The sergeant handed Eric the rifle when he stepped closer; it was a Remington 750 in 30.06. “They were hunting, judging by the rabbit the one with the bow had hanging from his belt. But I think they were on the lookout for us too, so they’re probably with the insurgents at the lake. They must have seen the skid marks this thing left on the power line road and followed it right here. When they saw no one was on it, I heard one of them tell the other one they needed to split up and beat the bushes. The only reason I was out of sight at the time was that I had hobbled over there to the other side of that big log. That MRE kind of messed up my stomach, empty as it was.
“Anyway, I was lucky to be out of sight when they showed up because from what they were saying, I knew they’d kill me if they saw me. I was hoping they wouldn’t see me, but this guy was about to walk right on top of me. I had him covered, hoping he’d turn around, but then he spotted me and started raising his rifle to shoot. I dropped him with one round, but the other one was over there on the other side of the creek where I couldn’t see him. He couldn’t spot me either, down low like I was, but when he heard my shot he must have seen his buddy go down. I caught a glimpse of him running back up along the creek, towards the power line and I managed to get off a couple of rounds, but I don’t know if I hit him or not. I haven’t heard anything moving, but as wet as the ground is, that doesn’t mean anything. If he’s not down, he’s probably on his way back for help. The only thing he saw was that empty travois, so he had no way of knowing how many of us might be out here.”
“I’ve got to try and catch him,” Eric said. “If he makes it back to the lake to tell the others, we’re screwed! They’ll figure out what we’re trying to do, and then it’ll be impossible to sneak down the river.”
“Yes, go ahead! I doubt he’ll be coming back looking for me alone. I’m going to try on this other fellow’s boots for size. They look about right to me, and my feet are mighty cold.”
Eric nodded before stepping across the little creek and slipping through the trees towards the spot where Sergeant Connelly had last seen the running man. Like the one he’d shot, the sergeant said the second man was also dressed in hunter’s camouflage. Eric knew he would be difficult to spot in this gloomy, wet forest if he thought he was being pursued and decided to stop and lie in wait, but he had to balance the need for caution against the need to catch this man if he didn’t stop. With the M4 at the ready and the selector set to burst mode, he moved as fast as he dared. When he found no one in the area where it should have been if the sergeant’s rounds had taken him down, Eric figured they’d both missed. But then as he continued on in the direction of the power line, he saw something smeared on the smooth bark of a small tree that stopped him in his tracks again: fresh blood!
From the height of the smear, about five feet above the ground, Eric guessed that the wounded man must have paused to lean against the trunk and that he might have been hit in the shoulder, upper arm or back. There was enough of the blood to convince Eric that the wound was serious, but apparently, it wasn’t bad enough to stop the man from moving on. Proceeding much more carefully now, Eric spotted more blood among the leaves here and there as he studied the ground and peered into the undergrowth, looking for movement. He could see the power line opening about a hundred feet further ahead, and figured he’d catch sight of the running man if he got there before he had time to top the first hill on the right of way. If so, his target would be well within rifle range and Eric was confident the chase would end there. But he’d taken just two more steps in that direction when he heard a low zinging sound like a fast-flying insect and felt a sudden rush of air near his face just before something smacked into a tree a few feet behind him. Eric instinctively dropped, then glanced around to look for the source of that last sound and spotted the neon plastic fletching of a hunting arrow, its head buried out of sight in the bark of a large beech tree.
Eric was nearly eye level to the ground now and crawling to get behind the base of another big tree in front of him when he caught a glimpse of movement up ahead. It was subtle and hard to pick out in the low light, but Eric recognized the motion of a hand drawing back a bowstring. His rifle was already pointed in that direction and now he instantly brought his sights into line with the movement he’d seen and squeezed off a succession of 3-round bursts until he was certain there was no longer any threat of being skewered by a broadhead.
Six
“I THINK YOU HIT him in the left upper arm, but it was hard to tell for sure after all the damage from my 5.56 rounds,” Eric told Sergeant Connelly, after returning to where he’d left him waiting. “I figure that’s the reason he missed me with that arrow, even if not by much, and the reason he couldn’t get off another shot before it was too late. He was obviously good with this though,” Eric said, setting the bow down beside the travois, along with the gutted carcass of a rabbit nearly decapitated from being struck in the neck with a broadhead. “I think he was trying for the same results with me!”
“I told you they were hunting. I guess they were looking for us at the same time?”
“I imagine. I don’t suppose they’d miss an opportunity to add to the larder, especially if they could do it quietly. Anyway, since he already had the rabbit, I didn’t want to let it go to waste, considering we’ve got one MRE left. The meat will keep well enough in this cool weather until we get somewhere we can cook it.”
“Are you thinking of doing more hunting? Is that why you brought the bow too?”
“Maybe. It could prove useful in some way. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have it.” The bow was short and lightweight, and fitted with a compact bow quiver that held six broadhead-tipped, carbon fiber shafts, although the one that n
early hit Eric was missing a point, as he hadn’t been able to remove it from the tree it was buried in. The rig was far more high-tech and expensive-looking than anything Eric ever owned, but he and his brother Keith had quite a bit of bowhunting experience. It was simply a natural part of the whole outdoor experience Bart had shared with them as boys.
“I see the boots fit,” Eric said. Sergeant Connelly had also taken the dead man’s camouflaged hunting jacket. He was going to be a lot more comfortable now, as Eric knew he’d been suffering out here with no shoes or even a shirt. With rain still falling and the air already chilly by late afternoon, his companion would have suffered greatly tonight without this windfall. Out on the riverbank, Eric could feel the bite of the north wind that was building behind the wave of rain as the frontal system moved across the region.
“They’re almost perfect, and the jacket didn’t even get messed up.”
“Face shots are the way to go,” Eric said, nodding at the hole just above the bridge of the dead man’s nose. By the way, before I heard your shot, I was coming back to tell you I did indeed find a canoe near the river, so as soon as it gets dark I can snag it and we’ll start downstream. I think we’d better put some miles behind us without delay because when these two don’t show up tonight, it’s going to draw a lot of attention to these woods if anyone back at the lake knew where they were hunting. They’ll find those drag marks and figure out which way we were heading. I’m going to try and cover our tracks the rest of the way at least. Maybe that will slow them down some.”
Eric picked up the travois again and dragged Sergeant Connelly along the stream bed until they were at last within sight of the river, but still hidden in the woods. It wouldn’t be dark for another hour, so he backtracked and did his best to obliterate signs of their passage, moving leaves over the skid marks and his own footprints in the most obvious places so that it would be difficult for anyone to follow the trail, especially in the dark. He was sure someone would find the bodies by tomorrow or the next day, but by then he planned to be many miles to the north on the Tennessee.
The Divide Page 5
