Abducted

by David R Lewis

  “We have some information from a woman that Ruby is chained in a cave close to the river.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “What else she tell ya?”

  “Nothing,” Crockett replied. Clete squirmed in his chair.

  “That was it?”

  “That’s all she could see.”

  Birdy looked at Crockett blankly for a moment before recognition came to his eyes. “Oh,” he said. “Gotcha. You been to a seer about this, ain’t cha?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she thinks ol’ Boog not only took her, but he’s keepin’ her for some reason or other.”

  “Yep.”

  “You believe she’s still alive?”

  “If she wasn’t, I’d know it.”

  Birdy thought that over for a moment, then shrugged. “This is limestone country. Whole area is a honeycomb of caves, sinkholes, and such. Could be damn near anyplace. I can get a bunch of men involved in a search, but ya’ll don’t want that, do ya?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Crockett said.

  “Uh-huh. You run across Boog Jeter, I doan speck anybody’ll ever see him again, will they?”

  Crockett smiled. “I can’t answer that, Sheriff.”

  “Doan suppose I’d see it any different if I was in your shoes. There’s times when justice is a damn site more important than law.”

  “Yessir.”

  The sheriff nodded thoughtfully. “All right, boys,” he said. “I guess it’s up to you then. At least for now. Ya’ll ever done any floatin’?”

  “What?”

  “Canoes. Can’t rent one this time a year, but I got a eighteen foot Mad River I’ll loan ya. You two need to get down the river. Little late to get started today. Meet me at dam three access tomorrow mornin’ around eight. I’ll put ya in and pick you up at the Hardy landin’ a little before dark. That’ll give you plenty a time to git down the river an’ look things over. Might see somethin’ worthwhile now that the leaves are gone. You’ll need food, a dry bag, a cooler, things like that. I got it all. Even got a couple a ponchos. They say it may rain tomorrow.”

  “Wait a minute,” Clete said. “You expect us to take a canoe down the river?”

  “Shore. Ain’t but about fifteen miles.”

  “Now hold on. I ain’t never been in a canoe. I don’t like boats.”

  “I got life jackets,” Birdy grinned. “You’ll be okay. Be sure and bring a extra couple a changes a clothes to stick in the dry bag.”

  “Changes of clothes?” Clete asked.

  “You say you ain’t never been in a canoe?”

  “No, goddammit!”

  Birdy got to his feet before he spoke. “Then yer prob’ly gonna get wet, son. An’ they ain’t no way to get wetter in the world than hittin’ cold assed water on a fifty-degree day. See ya in the mornin’, boys. Doan forget food. High calorie, high fat. Cold day on the river’ll take a lot outa a feller.”

  Clete watched the big man drop a twenty on the table and walk away.

  “We’ll have ponchos,” he said. “How wet can we get?”

  Crockett smiled. “He meant falling in the river.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what usually happens when you turn a canoe over, Cletus.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why, in rough water, you get off the seat and kneel in the bottom of the boat. Lowers the center of gravity and makes the canoe more stable.”

  “What?”

  “If you dump, just remember to hang on to your paddle and try to grab the boat. If the current is swift it’s pretty easy to lose a paddle or the canoe. The canoe can usually be recovered. Lose a paddle and you’re in deep shit.”

  “What?”

  “And if you’re outa the boat and the rocks are bad, try to go through them on your back, feet first. Less chance of getting injured or knocked out that way.”

  “Aw, man!”

  “We should be pretty okay. Too many tourists float the Spring for it to be more than a class three river. We may turn over, but we probably won’t get hurt.”

  “Oh, that’s a fucking comfort. I barely even know how to swim!”

  “I thought you are an ex-Army Ranger.”

  “I am. But I ain’t no goddam SEAL!”

  “That explains why you can’t balance a ball on your nose.”

  “Lemme alone, will ya? Just get me back to the motel.”

  Crockett grinned. “Okay. What’s the rush?”

  Clete actually shivered. “I gotta get my affairs in order,” he said.

  It was afternoon and Crockett was nearly dozing on his bed when Clete entered the room.

  “How come you know so much about canoes?” he asked.

  Crockett opened an eye. “I was an Explorer Scout. Did a month in Canada when I was a kid. About half that time we were in canoes.”

  “How long ago was that? A hundred years?”

  “Like riding a bicycle, Texican.”

  “Right. Under water.”

  Crockett grinned. “The object is to stay on top of the water. You’ll be in the bow of the boat.”

  “That’s the front, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How come I’ll be in the front?”

  “So I can be in the stern and aim the damn thing. All you have to do is paddle on whatever side I tell you to, as fast as I tell you to.”

  “Don’t the water just kinda carry you along?”

  “Yeah, but if you wanna be able to actually make the canoe go where you want it to, you gotta be going faster than the current. Otherwise the river’ll take you wherever it pleases.”

  “Oh fine. So I just gotta paddle like crazy.”

  “And use draw strokes.”

  “What?”

  “That’s reaching out from the side of the boat, putting the paddle in the water, and pulling toward yourself. That will move the bow in the direction of the paddle. Pretty important if there are a lot of rocks and shit.”

  Clete looked pained. “Anything else?”

  “Backwatering, but I’ll show you that when we get on the river. Then there are the three big rules.”

  “What three big rules?”

  “In fast current or rapids, as long as you can reach water, don’t stop paddling. Never grab the gunnels. And never…”

  “What’s a gunnel?” Clete interrupted.

  “The sides of the canoe. Don’t grab ‘em.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a canoe is only gonna have a few inches of freeboard. If we’re in a…”

  “What’s a freeboard?”

  “How far the boat sticks up out of the water. You grab a gunnel when we’re in an area of rapids with rocks and you could get your fingers or a hand smashed.”

  “Oh.”

  “And never, ever stand up.”

  “Stand up? Why the hell would I stand up?”

  “Because rookies do. The first time we’re going over a fall or in scary rapids, your natural instinct will be to stop paddling, grab the gunnels, and start to stand up. You do that and we’re screwed.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Just listen to me. I’ll tell you what to do. We’ll be fine. The worst that will happen is that we’ll get wet.”

  “The worst that can happen is that they’ll eventually find my bloated corpse drifting down the Mississippi on the way to the goddamn Gulf!”

  Crockett chuckled. “Scared?” he asked.

  “Not as much as I will be tomorrow,” Clete said, and walked back to his own room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Thunderstorms began around midnight. By the time Clete and Crockett met the sheriff the next morning, the downpour had relaxed into a constant cold drizzle that crept under collars and up sleeves, and reduced visibility like fog. They put on borrowed ponchos and ball caps, lifted Birdy’s canoe down from the top of his old Chevy Suburban, and he and Crockett tied in the cooler, dry bag, and such, while Clete st
ood looking bleakly at the river.

  “It’s up a little bit,” Birdy said, after he and Crockett carried the canoe to the landing.

  “Oh great,” Clete muttered.

  “Naw, that’s good. It’ll keep ya above some a the rocks and make the falls and rapids a little easier. Saddler Falls can be a little trouble, the chute by Martin’s cabin gets a little hairy, and there’s a cave-in fall just a little north of Thousand Islands that’s tricky, but this rain’ll help. You’ll be okay ‘til ya get to Hardy. I’ll be at the beach there around five and wait for ya. Take breaks. Hit a gravel bar, stop and collect yourselves, eat something. Build a fire and warm up if you’re cold. You should pass Thousand Islands camp between noon and one if you’re on schedule. The river’s mostly easier south of there. A little warmer, too. Not that you’ll notice on a day like today. Ain’t but about forty-five degrees. Fifty for the high. They say the rain is gonna last all day.”

  Crockett glanced skyward into the drizzle. “Sure,” he said in his best Scottish accent. “Look at that then. It’s a fine soft mornin’, ya know.”

  Birdy chuckled and turned away toward his truck. “See ya’ll down at Hardy,” he said, over his shoulder.

  Crockett grabbed the stern of the canoe and slid it into the river bow first, swinging the front of the boat next to the bank as he did. “Get in,” he said.

  Clete, bulky under his poncho and swathed in the biggest of the two life jackets, looked at him from under the bill of his hat. “Now?”

  Crockett grinned. “Yeah. Step into the center of the canoe. Sit in the center of the canoe. Keep your mind and your weight in the center of the canoe. Don’t lean and don’t turn around to look at me. You get in, then I’ll push us off and hand you your paddle.”

  If Crockett had not had a firm hold on the back of the boat, Clete would have turned it over at the landing. As it was, he almost fell out of it struggling to get in. Trying not to giggle, Crockett managed to hold it steady and get them pushed off into the sluggish current below the damn.

  “Just relax,” he said, paddling to get the canoe away from the bank, then J-stroking to line it up in the river. “You’ve got nothing to do until I tell you what to do. I’ll hand you your paddle in a few minutes. Right now, just enjoy the ride. You don’t have to kneel yet. Use the seat. You’ll be more comfortable. I got the boat.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Clete said. “Who the hell’s got you?”

  The trip was relatively uneventful. Too frightened to do anything else, Clete took instruction well and Crockett got them down the river in one piece. They stopped twice to rest and eat, passed Thousand Islands camp shortly after one, and arrived at Hardy on schedule.

  As they neared their destination, cabins, many of them on stilts, began to line the banks, the drizzle quit, and late afternoon sunlight began to shaft through the thinning clouds. The river turned from gray to green, and a gentle current carried them easily along. Crockett had little trouble keeping them in the flow. Relieved at nearing the end of their trip and much more at ease than when the trek started, Clete swiveled in his seat to look toward the stern.

  “Damn near got her done, huh pard?” he said.

  Crockett smiled. “Damn near. You did good, Texican.”

  “Yeah. I kinda like this,” Clete said, unsnapping his poncho. “Oughta come back here in the summer sometime an’ do it again. Maybe spend a couple of days or somethin’. Ya know, if I had…”

  “Quiet,” Crockett interrupted. “Sit still.” A dull roar in the distance had caught his attention. He eased himself to his feet and stood peering down the river.

  “Whazamatter?”

  “Shut up. I need to hear.”

  Clete quieted and they floated for a few seconds before Crockett sat back down. “Shit,” he said.

  “What’s going on?” Clete asked.

  “You hear that kind of hissing roar in the distance?”

  Clete listened for a moment. “Yeah.”

  “That’s another falls, Texican. By the sound of it, a big one. It’ll get a lot louder as we get closer. You’ve done really well all the way down the river. Just remember the three rules and we’ll get through it.”

  “Get through it? What the hell you mean ‘get through it?’ What’s going on?”

  Crockett didn’t answer, but stood up again and looked downriver. When he sat down he began to stroke.

  “Paddle, Clete. Left side, hard. We gotta get some speed up. Just dig in and keep strokin’.”

  The last fall before Hardy is river wide and around seven or eight feet high. Paddling as if his life depended on it, Clete hung in there until the very brink. Then his reptile brain took over and he forgot every one of the three rules. He stopped paddling, grabbed the gunnels, and stood up.

  When Clete fell out of the canoe, he did Crockett a real favor. Unencumbered by the Texican’s weight, the bow slapped the water at the bottom of the fall, rebounded briskly, took in very little water, and scooted rapidly off into the slowing current allowing the stern to drop directly down into the river. Crockett stayed high and dry. Clete bobbed to the surface fifteen feet away, coughing and sputtering. “Help!” he shouted, flailing at the water to get to the boat.

  Crockett backwatered a few feet and kept his distance. “You’re okay. Swim toward me!” he shouted.

  “I can’t swim!”

  “Then fucking paddle!”

  “Goddammit! Come get me!”

  “You’re fine,” Crockett said, noticing the Hardy landing coming slowly up on his left. “You can’t sink and you won’t drown. Swim for the bank!”

  He stroked down river to pick up Clete’s lost paddle, then, a carrot on a stick, Crockett backwatered at a pace designed to keep Clete just out of reach of the canoe. In moments he was at the landing and Clete was in water shallow enough to stand up. Crockett beached the boat and stepped out onto the bank.

  “Goddammit!” Clete thundered, sloshing his bedraggled way toward shore. “What the hell is the matter with you? I coulda died out there!”

  “No chance,” Crockett said. “If I’d a let you grab the boat, you’d a turned it over trying to climb in. One of us in the river is enough.”

  Laughter from up the bank caused Crockett to turn and see Birdy walking down the slope toward him.

  Clete stood in knee-deep water, shaking with the cold. “Shoot that sonofabitch, Sheriff!” he shouted. “Attempted murder. That’s a fuckin’ force-able felony. Pop a cap on his cracker ass!”

  Crockett joined Birdy’s laughter.

  Clete sloshed up onto the bank, water rushing off of him in streams. “Oh, f-fine!” he stammered around chattering teeth. “I’m f-fucking h-hypothermic, an’ all you two j-jackasses can do is s-stand there and fucking b-bray!”

  “You come all the way downriver with only one shoe?” Birdy asked.

  Clete looked at his feet. His left shoe was unaccounted for. “Aw, shit,” he said. “I thought you said we’d be okay ‘til we got to Hardy!”

  “This is Hardy,” the sheriff grinned. “Ya’ll were okay ‘til you got here, weren’t ya?”

  Crockett lost it completely then, dropping to his backside and letting it happen. Birdy was made of sterner stuff.

  “C’mon, son,” he said, removing the dry bag from the beached canoe. “Let’s git you up to my truck an’ git you into some dry clothes. Crockett an’ me’ll take care of the boat an’ gear.”

  Less than an hour later, the three of them were back in the Stateline Café. Still shivering occasionally and wearing only one wet shoe, Clete was gnawing his way through the meatloaf special with a double order of mashed potatoes.

  “Didn’t see anything at all?” Birdy asked.

  Crockett shook his head, “Nope. We probably missed some stuff. Between the clouds and the rain, it was hard to get a clear view of anything more than a hundred yards or so from the river. I thought I saw a vehicle of some kind parked on top of a bluff two or three hundred yards from the bank a little way north of
Thousand Islands, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Stitch,” Clete said. “I’ll call him tonight. He can be here with the helo by midmorning. We’ll try it from the air.”

  “The air?” Birdy asked.

  “Yeah,” Crockett replied. “Where can we land a helicopter around here?”

  “Any damn place I wantcha to. Down at the spring parking lot would be good. No cars to speak of this time of year. You guys got a chopper?”

  “Yep,” Crockett said. “I wanna fly the river. Maybe we’ll spot something from the air.”

  “Can I come with ya’ll?”

  “As a sheriff or our float trip outfitter?”

  Birdy smiled. “I told ya onct that I thought that, in certain cases, justice was more important than law. I won’t git in your way, boys.”

  “Birdwell Outfitters and Canoe Rentals,” Crockett said. “Could be the start of a whole new career.”

  Clete sat on Crockett’s bed with the phone to his ear. “No, nothing definite,” he said, “but ya can’t see enough from the river. We need to get in there overhead and get a better look. That’s not a problem, we got the local sheriff on our side. He even wants to come along. Use that new satellite phone I gave ya. That GPS function from mine should bring you right to us. Okay, see ya then.”

  Clete hung up and turned to Crockett. “Stitch’ll be here between nine and ten in the morning. Christ, I hope this works.”

  “If it doesn’t,” Crockett said, “we’re gonna have to call in a full search, and it’ll have to be all cops because of Boog. We can’t send civilian volunteers into a situation where somebody could get hurt or killed.”

  “We’ll find her, son.”

  “And Boog,” Crockett said.

  “Yessir. And Boog.”

  Crockett and Clete met Sheriff Birdwell at the State Line Café for breakfast at eight the following morning. Crockett ordered bacon and eggs but could only pick at his food, and Clete was in about the same condition. A little after nine they were in the main parking area near the spring. No more than ten minutes later the sound of an approaching helicopter could be heard and Clete’s satellite phone rang.