The Divide

by Scott B. Williams

  The two men just laughed at the idea at first, one of them stating that none of their boats were for sale, but Eric persisted long enough to get the chance to flash gold in their eyes just as the first rays of the rising sun illuminated the river and the shiny metal in his hand. As it turned out the men were brothers, and yes, they had run a fishing outfit here before the collapse, and having nowhere better to go, had stayed on, guarding their property and indeed living off the bounty of the river and surrounding woods. When the three of them got down to serious negations, Eric found himself three ounces of gold, one canoe and one Remington Model 750 hunting rifle poorer, but he was now in possession of an 18-foot John boat with a 75-horsepower Mercury on the transom. Along with the boat, the brothers had agreed to provide him with 15 gallons of gasoline, which accounted for half of the value of the trade, considering the scarcity of that particular commodity. Eric calculated that it was enough to complete the journey, but the deal had cleaned him out, leaving him little else with which to barter. Shauna had several more of his coins on her, and that would have to see them through to Colorado and back now because the rest of his stash was in Bart’s care aboard the schooner.

  Because he and the sergeant were completely out of food too, Eric had asked the two brothers if they had any fish they could spare, seeing several collapsible live fish baskets hanging from the dock. One of them went inside and returned with a small paper bag filled with cold, fried fillets that he said was catfish, and the other pulled a couple of good-sized live ones out of one of the baskets and tossed them into Eric’s new boat. Eric hadn’t told them about his companion or anything else other than that he had to get downriver. He didn’t mention why or how far, and when one of them asked, he just said Kentucky Lake, as that particular reservoir was indeed on the way to the Ohio. Eric figured the less he said the better, and he wasn’t surprised at the strange looks he got from the two men when he left their dock heading in the opposite direction.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Eric said, pulling up to the bank and tying off just long enough to help Sergeant Connelly into the boat.

  “I take it they warmed up to the sight of that gold?”

  “Of course. It took more of it than I wanted to pay, but I’m thinking this is going to beat the hell out of paddling.”

  “The motor sounds good.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it that I can tell, and we should have enough fuel to make it all the way to the post, so no worries there. The main thing we have to worry about is keeping an eye out for trouble, because now like you said, trouble can hear us coming.”

  “Then why don’t you let me take the wheel? I can sit there and steer just as well as I can sit somewhere else doing nothing. That’ll free you up to run shotgun from the bow unless you want to get some sleep first and head out later?”

  “Sleep first? No thank you! I slept yesterday, and I can sleep again when we get to the post. Here, you can eat breakfast on the way!” Eric said, as he grabbed a handful of greasy fish from the bag and handed the rest to the sergeant. “If we have to stop again before we get there, we’ll cook those other two then.”

  Eric advised Sergeant Connelly to steer wide of the mouth of the tributary when they went by. Sure enough, the two brothers were still standing on the dock drinking coffee and no doubt discussing what to do with their unexpected windfall. Both of them stopped and stared as the boat they’d sold went by, this time in the expected direction, but with two crew instead of one. Eric waved once and then pretended to ignore them. They might be curious, but he doubted they really cared what he was up to now that they had his gold. They had more boats than they could use, but gold could be exchanged for many of the things they no doubt lacked. When the fish camp fell astern and out of sight around the next bend, Eric didn’t give the brothers or the transaction another thought, setting his sights instead on the river ahead. It felt good to be moving fast again, and he was optimistic that they had little to worry about in regard to what they were leaving astern.

  That all changed about fifteen miles downriver, when Sergeant Connelly steered wide around a big bend and they entered a long straight stretch of river bounded by cattail marsh on both sides. The next bend was at least a mile ahead, and before they’d gone half that distance, two boats suddenly entered the river from out of the tall cattails just ahead. Eric was reaching for his binoculars and Sergeant Connelly was backing off the throttle when both boats suddenly lit up with high-intensity blue LED flashers. Eric had the M4 in hand but kept it low as he studied the boats. There was no need for the binoculars now, as they were coming fast, spreading apart to cut off any possibility of escape. They looked official, but Eric knew that didn’t mean anything these days. Running from them wouldn’t work though, as there was nowhere to go, and he knew from first glance both vessels were bigger and more powerful than the former rental boat. If they weren’t law enforcement, by the time he knew that for sure it would be too late to do anything about it. Eric knew that and so did Sergeant Connelly, who now put the engine in neutral, letting them drift to a stop as it idled.

  “What do you think, Branson? Legit?”

  “I hope so because we’re screwed if they’re not, but it looks to me like those boats are fish and game patrol,” Eric said, watching them close in. Both appeared to be nearly identical as if from the same agency or department, every visible surface but the blue lights finished in dark, flat-toned green. Seeing them brought to mind his brother, Keith, still doing his best to patrol his jurisdiction despite the conditions and the lack of backup or infrastructure. Maybe the men in these boats were the same, at least he could hope so. He counted five of them in all, each one at the controls dressed in green fatigues that nearly matched their boats. One of the other men wore a similar uniform of BDUs, but in khaki, while the other two wore jeans, dark brown jackets and matching brown caps. All but the operators were holding either rifles or shotguns, their attention fixed on Eric and Sergeant Connelly. When the boats drew nearer, spreading wide to approach Eric’s vessel from either side, he saw that he was right in his guess that they were game warden boats. The black graphics on their topsides read ‘wildlife enforcement’, and the rigid aluminum T-tops bristled with a variety of antennas. Eric raised one hand and bent slightly at the knees to ease his rifle down in the boat. Then, with both hands clearly empty and semi-raised and a smile on his face, he called out a friendly greeting.

  “Shut up and keep those hands where I can see them!” One of the two men wearing the brown jackets said. He was holding a short lever-action carbine with the muzzle in Eric’s general direction, though not quite pointed at him yet. This man looked older than his companions and Eric could now see that he had a badge—a star-shaped one like the sheriff’s department badge his brother wore—pinned to his jacket lapel. As the boat drew closer, Eric could read the inscription on a separate nameplate above it, identifying him as Sheriff Morgan.

  “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”

  “There will be if you try to make any sudden moves,” the sheriff said, before turning to glare at Sergeant Connelly. “Shut that damned outboard off and get your hands up where I can see them too!”

  The other men with the sheriff looked on as he did all the talking. There was little choice but to comply, and Eric assumed they’d been stopped simply because these lawmen happened to be there doing something else when they came along on the river. He hoped it was a routine inspection, triggered simply by the fact that he and Sergeant Connelly were strangers here. But though Eric didn’t doubt they were who they appeared to be, that didn’t necessarily mean they could be trusted. And he knew some of the things he had in the boat with him were going to be hard to explain regardless. His worries were confirmed when at the sheriff’s command, the other man in the brown coat who was his deputy, stepped over into Eric’s boat as soon as their vessel was alongside. Motioning for Eric to step back, the deputy bent and picked up the M4 from where Eric had laid it.

  “We’re just passing
through, Sheriff. I understand that you have to keep a watch on river traffic in your jurisdiction, but we have no intention of stopping here or anywhere else on the Tennessee. We’re just trying to get out of here.”

  “Passing through from where, exactly? I already know that you’ve stopped in my county. And I see you’ve been fishing,” he nodded at the two catfish in the bottom of the boat. My friends here with Fish and Game might want to talk to you about that, but I’m more interested in this boat that came from the Barkley Brother’s Fish Camp, just upriver.”

  Eric knew the sheriff could see the rental logo on the side the boat, and that it probably seemed suspicious. “You’re right, Sheriff, it did come from there, but it’s not stolen. I bought it from the owners this morning.”

  “You need to see this, Sheriff,” the man who’d picked up the rifle interrupted. “This isn’t any civilian AR-15!”

  “No, it’s not,” Sergeant Connelly answered before the sheriff could take the rifle from his deputy. “It’s an Army-issue Colt M4, and it came directly from my commander, Lieutenant Holton.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that you were given this rifle by an Army lieutenant? You don’t look like a military man to me, and your buddy here damned sure doesn’t.”

  Eric knew a claim that they were soldiers might seem less than convincing. Sergeant Connelly was dressed in the ill-fitting camo jacket and brown duck boots from the dead hunter. His thinning hair was still short, but he hadn’t shaved in two weeks. Eric, on the other hand, was sporting the thick, full beard he’d worn for years and he was in need of a haircut too, at least by regular military standards. Worst of all, they both lacked the one thing the sheriff asked for after Sergeant Connelly stated his name, rank and the regiment he was attached to. That one crucial thing that could back up their story was I.D. If the Sergeant had been carrying any in the first place, and Eric didn’t know if he had or not, it had been stripped from him when he was captured and interrogated. Eric had nothing on him at all that could identify him from the beginning of the mission. It was part of the agreement he’d made with Lieutenant Holton to assure deniability if things didn’t go as planned and he was captured or killed. And because of this, Eric knew he and the sergeant were both screwed when it came to proving who they were.

  “I’m placing you two under arrest,” Sheriff Morgan said, before telling the other man in the boat to cuff them both.

  “Arresting us for what?” Eric asked.

  “Possession of an automatic weapon is all the reason I need, if I even needed a reason, which I don’t, considering the circumstances. That alone would get you 15 to 20 in federal prison if there was a court available to prosecute you. But aside from that, you don’t have proof of who you are and what you’re doing in my county. Not to mention, I know you paid for that boat with foreign gold coins. It seems to me that you two fellows must be funded by a terrorist organization!”

  Eric stared back at the sheriff as he processed this revelation. So that’s why these two patrol boats had been lying in wait when they entered this stretch of river! The two brothers he’d bought the boat from must have had a radio at their camp and must have called the sheriff’s department or the game wardens. Was it because of the gold coins or simply the fact that Eric hadn’t told them he had a companion before he went back upriver after the transaction was done? Whatever it was, it had interested the sheriff enough to go to the trouble of putting two boats into position to intercept them.

  “As a matter of fact, I think you might be affiliated with that bunch of pirates that have taken control of the Tenn-Tom Waterway south of here. We know they’ve got military-grade weapons that they stole from a National Guard armory in Mississippi.”

  “The only affiliation we have with those terrorists is an attempt to find out what they’re up to and shut them down! I can assure you that we’re all too familiar with the stolen hardware you speak of, Sheriff,” Sergeant Connelly said. “They also commandeered my own patrol vessel and killed three of my men. I would still be their prisoner if not for Branson here, who was sent in by my commanding officer to find out what happened to us.”

  “Let me get this straight: First, you tell me you’re a sergeant in the Army, and now you’re saying you were taken prisoner by those people controlling the waterway and then this civilian was sent in by your lieutenant to rescue you single-handed?”

  “I know it sounds unlikely, but it’s the truth. I’ve never met Branson here in my life until a couple of days ago, and he’s not even currently enlisted, so yes, I guess you could say he’s a civilian. But the fact is, this man is a former Navy SEAL who made a career out of operations like the one he just pulled off. He volunteered to help Lieutenant Holton and he damned sure did his job, destroying the captured gunboat and getting me out at the same time. It was a narrow escape, but we thought we were in the clear now. We’re trying to get back to my post to give Lieutenant Holton a report. Something will be done about those insurgents, Sheriff. It’s just a matter of acquiring the right assets and implementing a plan.”

  “Boy, ole boy, that’s one hell of a piece of fiction right there! You two are going to provide solid entertainment to your fellow cellmates when you get to my jail. I’m sure they’ll enjoy listening to whatever other bullshit stories you can make up, but I’ve heard about all I need to hear for now.”

  “You clearly have access to radio communications that most people don’t Sheriff,” Sergeant Connelly said. “You can verify my story if you can get in touch with someone at our post. There’s surely a way to relay a message if I give you the frequencies. If you ever want to see this river opened back up to commercial traffic, it’s essential that I get my report to Lieutenant Holton, so a plan can be implemented. We’re on your side here, Sheriff. You have to understand that.”

  Eric saw by the sheriff’s expressions that he didn’t understand it, nor did he care to. His mind was made up, at least for now, and that was that. Eric and Sergeant Connelly were both in handcuffs now and seated in their own boat while the deputy secured at towline to the bow from the warden’s patrol boat. No amount of argument was going to convince Sheriff Morgan to release them here and let them go on their way, and Eric knew the best they could hope for was a chance to plead their case again later, to somehow get him to at least look into the matter.

  Eric was fuming inside, but he didn’t let his emotions show. He hadn’t given those two bastards that sold him the boat any reason to make that call, and he’d thought they were well satisfied with the payment. Eric understood that few people trusted strangers in this environment after all that had happened, but he’d thought he’d made a solid deal and it really pissed him off because twenty minutes prior he and Sergeant Connelly were speeding down the river on their way to home base. Eric had been confident of making it back before Shauna and Jonathan gave up on him, but now there was no telling how long this would take to get straightened out, if it ever was. The deputy had, of course, found Eric’s leftover grenades too upon further inspection of the boat, and that only added to their appearance as terrorists. This rural Tennessee sheriff could literally lock them up and throw away the key or even have them executed and no one would ever know. Eric was sure such things were happening all over, and he was kicking himself because he now realized he and Sergeant Connelly would have been better off sticking to the canoe and traveling only at night, no matter how long it took. He had let impatience get the better of him, and now he was going to pay the price. Eric thought of little else as he sat there handcuffed in the boat next to Sergeant Connelly, both of them under the guard of the deputy’s rifle; and both wondering what would happen next as they were towed away to the uncertain fate awaiting them in some small-town county jail.

  Eight

  SHAUNA HARTFIELD FELT ALMOST as if she were in a prison, rather than on a military post. She and Jonathan had been essentially confined to one building since they’d arrived here. They each had a small private room and the use of a common area and bathroo
m nearby, but they weren’t given free-run of the rest of the facility due to security reasons. Shauna was taken once to a different building to see a medic, who checked her hand wound and said the healing was progressing normally, but that was the extent of it. Since arriving there and disembarking from the C.J. Vaughn, Shauna and Jonathan hadn’t seen Lieutenant Holton, but she knew he must be around because he was supposed to be in charge of at least some if not all of the operations here. Whatever he’d worked out with Eric was beyond her need to know, and all she could do was wait for it to be finished so the three of them could get moving again.

  Eric had assured her that it would be quick, but Shauna was fast losing her patience after three days of waiting. She’d tried talking to some of the other personnel they came in contact with, but other than friendly greetings and small talk, none of those attempts got her anywhere, and Jonathan reported the same. The two of them passed most of their time talking with each other, and this afternoon was no exception.

  “This waiting is driving me insane, Jonathan,” Shauna said, as she paced the floor of his small room, which was identical to hers. “I thought I was finally done with that when we got on that boat at Vic’s house, but here I am again, still waiting, still wondering and not getting any answers! Eric should have been back by now.”

  “Yeah, you’d think so, but you know he could have easily gotten delayed. He told me stuff always changes on a mission. He said you’ve got to be flexible and able to adapt. I’ll bet he’ll be back soon, but whatever job he had to do, he’s gonna make sure he does it right.”

  “I know things change, Jonathan. I just wish Lieutenant Holton would talk to us. I just hate the not knowing. I have no idea where they sent him or even what this is all about, and I know they’re not going to tell us that, but you’d think they’d at least give us something… maybe let us know if he finished what he had to do or not. Especially since we’re stuck here waiting on him. I had to live with this kind of thing for years, Jonathan. I did it until I couldn’t take it anymore. I guess this waiting now just brings back all those memories. I shouldn’t let it, but I can’t help it.”