Devil's Fork

by Jesse Jacobson

  “Damn, you, Toe. You catch everything don’t you?”

  “You know me,” he said.

  “Nothing happened,” I inserted. “She dropped by… unannounced and…”

  “Relax, Jolly,” Toe interrupted. “I saw her leaving in a snit. I know it wasn’t your fault and I know you turned that situation around, too.”

  “Good, now let’s play cribbage.”

  He dealt the cards and paused, “This is quite the transformation for you, Jolly.”

  I looked up and smiled, glad that he noticed the effort, “Don’t deal out too many compliments.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because at a penny a point, I’m gonna kick your ass all over this camp.”

  Chapter 9

  I’d fallen asleep around five o’clock. Toe was preparing breakfast when I woke about six-thirty. Some passengers also got up early to take morning hikes, walks on the river bank or to sip coffee by the fire. The sky was now clear. It would be a hot day but at six-thirty in the morning it was only about sixty degrees outside.

  Both Jeannie and her parents stayed in their tents until just before seven-thirty breakfast. When they emerged, I felt the temperature cool. None of them were talking to each other and Jeannie refused to make eye contact with me.

  Rosie glared at me when she emerged from her tent, causing me to wonder just how many passengers I’d piss off before we finished this expedition.

  We were on schedule to hit the river at ten o’clock. Toe took John, James and the Jenkins family on his boat again, and this time I was glad to see it. I knew there might be tension between Rosie and I but I still preferred it to the three-part drama I might have subjected myself to with the Jenkins family. Besides, how much crap could Rosie flip me in front of her husband?

  After breakfast, Toe and I packed up, and we hit the river. The second day morning stretch was smooth sailing. We hit a cluster of class two rapids that were fun but the rougher waters were yet to come.

  At twelve-forty-five, Toe radioed me on the walkie talkie reminding me of the meander coming up. A meander is a loop-like bend in the river, hence the phrase ‘meandering around.’ At the end of the meander was where we’d bypass Devil’s Fork. It was when I signed off from speaking with Toe that my internal radar pinged again. The message it was sending was clear: danger.

  ToeJam always claimed I had a sixth sense, the ability to sense danger before it happened. I used to question it; that feeling I’d get when something bad was about to happen. Over time, however, I learned to accept the feeling as a gift, and the feeling was strong.

  I was no longer willing to dismiss the sensations as my imagination, or a wild animal.

  I looked to the west bank where I’d seen the flash of light the morning before. I stopped the motor and allowed the K-Raft’s momentum to carry us forward, listening for any signs of movement or any mechanical sign, like that of a weapon cocking.

  Nothing.

  Passengers saw me and paused, falling silent. I saw them look at each other, wondering what was wrong. One man opened his mouth to speak, but he froze when I raised a single cautionary finger in the air.

  I scanned the bank once again… silently… slowly… carefully.

  One minute went by… two.

  Nothing.

  Toe’s voice broke the silence coming through the walkie-talkie. He’d seen my reactions in the past when I sensed danger. He didn’t beat around the bush.

  “What do you see?” he asked, whispering through the speaker, trying not to alarm the passengers any more than they already were.

  “Nothing… yet,” I replied, also in a low whisper.

  “Do you hear anything?”

  “No.”

  “But you know something’s out there?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely certain.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “On the right… up ahead,” I said. “I’m still trying to get a read on his position.”

  “Maybe it’s time to use the satcom and radio for help,” Toe said.

  “We can’t,” I replied. “We’re in a dead spot and…

  My sentence tapered off as I was struck by a revelation, “Oh Jesus.”

  “What?”

  “Think about it. We are in a calm spot of the river and can’t radio for help.”

  “Dammit, you’re right. Anyone who planned this out would know it. We’re sitting ducks here. What do we do?”

  “We make a run for it. Let’s hit the motor full-throttle. Zig-zag the boat. Make your turns random. If someone is out there, let’s give him a moving target.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Toe asked.

  “Then we’ll give our passengers a hell of a ride. Follow me. Stay at least fifty feet behind.”

  “Roger that,” he said.

  Toe and I both revved the engines as hard as it would go and the K-Raft responded. I wanted both K-Rafts to move toward the opposite bank, away from where I believed a shooter might position himself. I picked up the walkie-talkie.

  “Toe, I think we should…”

  Three muted puffs coming from the woods off the right bank interrupted my response. A silencer suppressed the sounds of the shots. I heard a howl coming from Toe’s boat. The shooter had hit someone. Also, the outside rubber tube of the raft was deflating. A bullet penetrated the rubber hull.

  I saw ToeJam making his way toward the front of the boat. The gunner hit chase Jenkins in the upper thigh of his right leg. The passengers were screaming—people panicked.

  “Everyone overboard!” I screamed, killing the engine. “Hang on to the ropes on the port side of the raft. Let’s move—out of the raft, Now.”

  ToeJam killed the engine on his raft, too.

  “Speak English!” Rosie screamed. “What’s the port side?”

  “Your left! Now! Move!”

  The passengers obeyed, diving into the water.

  I heard ToeJam screaming an identical command to his passengers. I heard two more muted puffs. ToeJam yelled out and held his side—the shooter hit him. The big man did not go down. Instead, he kept waving his arms and used his hands to push people out of the boat as quickly as possible. Another of the raft’s rubber tubes was deflating.

  The passengers in my boat had made it into the water as did I. “Grab onto a rope and hold it tight. The shooter is on the right bank. Use the raft as a shield!” I screamed.

  It was then I heard several loud blasts of gunfire. This gunfire came from a different direction and was not noise suppressed. It was coming from ToeJam’s boat. It was Toe who was shooting. He had a pistol in his hand. I was unaware he brought a gun with him but I was sure glad he did. He was firing at the relative position of the shooter.

  Toe’s passengers were in the water and also using their raft as a shield. Their faces were white with fear, screaming, barking questions. They all wondered the same thing as Toe and I did; who the hell was shooting at us and why?

  “Jolly and I do not have answers, people!” Toe screamed out, “And now’s not the time to hash it out. We have to get to safety, first.”

  I heard two more muted puffs coming from the bank. Both shots pelted Toe’s boat. The company designed the rubber molding to retract over punctures to slow the leaks but the designers weren’t thinking on bullet holes from high-powered rifles. The boat was taking on water. It was being hit too many times. Toe’s K-Raft could not take much more. It would soon sink and the shooter would have a clear shot at the passengers.

  “Ok, everyone please listen,” I barked out at the passengers. "The other boat is sinking. We need to work as a team to paddle our way to them.”

  “Bullshit!” I heard Rosie bellowed. “He is shooting at them, not us.”

  “We have to help them,” I insisted.

  “I’m not doing it,” she screamed.

  “Abandoning them is not an option, Rosie,” I screamed out. “You help us paddle, or so help me god, I’ll cut you loose a
nd let you float down the river. Now move it.”

  She looked at her husband for support. He glared at her, then looked back at me. He nodded, “We’re on it.”

  We paddled our way toward Toe’s boat. The shooting seemed to stop, and I wondered why. It seemed if he was after Mr. Jenkins all the gunner would need to do is deflate the boat, pick him out of the crowd bobbing in the water and put one between his eyes.

  But he didn’t. He stopped shooting. Why the hell did he do that? Had Toe shot him? Very doubtful. What was likely, however, is that Toe’s gunfire surprised the shooter. The shots fired in his direction threw him off guard. He was regrouping and reassessing the situation.

  When we reached the crippled craft, I checked on ToeJam. He was hanging onto a rope with his left hand. The pistol he had brought was in his right hand. He was holding it above the water.

  “How bad are you hit?” I asked.

  “The bullet got me in the fleshy part of the side,” he said. “I don’t think it hit anything major, but it hurts like a bugger.”

  “Hand me your gun,” I barked.

  “I pulled two extra clips when the shooting started,” he said. “I stored them in a sandwich bag. Hope they’re still good.”

  “Good thinking, Toe,” I said.

  “I never thought I’d use them. When these are gone, that’s it.”

  He handed them to me.

  “It’ll have to do,” I told him. “Toe, when we get to the bank can you make it to the rocks on your own?”

  “Yeah,” he said, grimacing. “I can make it.”

  I looked over at Jeannie, who was with her mother. Both were helping Chase Jenkins remain afloat. Her eyes were wide with fear, not unlike everyone else.

  “How are you holding up, Mr. Jenkins?” I asked.

  “I’m shot, floating in a river and I’m in pain, asshole,” Jenkins yelled out. “How do you think I am?”

  For a split second I wished the bullet had struck him through the head.

  “Ok, Jeannie, when we make it to the bank, you and your mom get him to the rocks.”

  “He’s too hurt,” Ruth said. “We won’t make it. We need help.”

  “I’ll get John and James to help.”

  “No,” Toe interjected, “We’ll need them to pull the boats to the bank.”

  “Negative, Toe,” I fired back. “John and James are EMT’s. I need them to help you and Mr. Jenkins.”

  Two more muted puffs. I heard the bullets rip through rubber. The gunner had now hit my boat. The shooter must have reassessed. It was now obvious he planned to sink both boats.

  I used the ropes to pull myself up, taking two shots toward the shooter’s position, hoping they’d come close enough to make him hunker down for a few minutes.

  “Ok, everyone, we have to get out of the water,” I called out. “I want everyone to continue to use the rafts as a shield and paddle with your feet and legs as hard as you can toward the left bank away from the shooter. Paddle like your life depends on it, because it does.”

  The passengers paddled toward the bank away from the shooter as hard as they could, pulling the raft with them. It was working.

  “Ok people, do you hear me?” I yelled out.

  “Yeah,” people cried out randomly.

  “I know this frightens you, but we can make it to safety,” I bellowed, “Everyone has to do their part. Are you with me?”

  The group all called out yes.

  “Good, pay attention. When we reach the bank, I’ll break away first and find a position of cover behind the rocks where I can fire at the shooter’s position. I need both couples to drag my boat to behind those rocks when we reach the bank. It will take all four of you. Once that is done the four of you must go back and drag Toe’s boat to safety.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Rosie screamed. “We’ll be sitting ducks.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll provide cover fire to keep the shooter’s head down. I have enough ammunition to keep you covered until both boats are safe. I know it’s a risk but trust me. I can keep the shooter occupied. John and James, you two, Jeannie and Mrs. Jenkins will tend to Toe and Mr. Jenkins. Get them to safety and do what you can for them.”

  “Got it,” James replied. John nodded.

  The next few moments went by in a blur. I was proud of all the passengers, who were scared out of their minds. Even Rosie seemed to get with the program. I found a place behind a large rock and squeezed off a shot every ten seconds in what I believed to be near the shooter’s position. It worked—the gunner stopped shooting. The gun fire allowed everyone to find cover. In my time in the military, I’d met a lot of snipers. One thing about them—they are doing all the shooting most of the time. They aren’t used to being shot... at. I was hoping when this guy realized I knew his relative position, he would hunker down and wait for my gunfire to stop—it worked.

  John, James, Jeannie and Mrs. Jenkins helped Toe and Mr. Jenkins to the tree line. Everyone else was hunkered down behind a large rock on the bank. The next step was to get them to the tree line and out of sight.

  “Ok, great job, people,” I called out. “Now, on the count of three, I’ll begin shooting again. I need everyone to run to the tree line and out of sight. Got it?”

  Before anyone could answer I saw a puff of smoke coming from the shooter’s weapon. Sand kicked up on the ground four feet to my right. Now I knew exactly where the son-of-a-bitch was.

  “Move! Now!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I stood and fired three rounds directly at the puff of smoke, realizing there was less than a one percent chance I’d actually hit him. I was just hoping he’d duck when he heard the bullets whistling by, allowing my passengers to get to safety.

  The four of them ran as hard as they could run. I began backing away from the shooter’s position, firing a shot off every five seconds until we all made it safely to the tree line. I let out a huge breath when everyone was safe.

  The bad news was, I exhausted all our ammunition providing covering fire. Going forward, the only gun I had was a sawed-off shotgun, which would be useless at this range.

  Rosie and Brandon pounced on me, “Who the hell is doing this?” screamed Rosie.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m just as much in the dark as all of you.”

  I said a silent prayer that two of our passengers were EMT’s. John and James had already started tending to ToeJam and Mr. Jenkins. James had the foresight to grab the first aid kit before jumping into the water. I had recently resupplied that kit myself. I knew it was well-stocked, though it wasn’t designed to treat GSW’s.

  The passengers were wet and scared but handling the situation far better than I imagined they would. Rosie had gotten anxious again, but beyond that people were doing their best to remain calm. Everyone, including me, wanted answers.

  As I made my way back to John and James, I noticed Rosie was shaken up. Her husband was trying to console her. Jeannie was likewise trying to console her mother. I turned my attention to the wounded men. This had to be a devastating moment for all these people. They handled it as a group better than I would have expected. John and James, as EMT’s, were used to handling emergency situations. Thank god they were here.

  “How are they?” I asked.

  “Mr. Jenkins will be fine,” James said. “The bullet went through the fatty part of his calf clean and didn’t hit a major artery. We’ve stopped the bleeding, but he needs to visit an ER as soon as possible.”

  “It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch,” Jenkins bellowed. “Give me something for the pain, will you?”

  “We’re more worried about ToeJam,” James said, ignoring Jenkins’ plea. “The bullet went clean through in his side, but really tore a hole in him. We’ve controlled the bleeding but he’s at risk for serious infection. We need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible.”

  “That’s right,” John said. “What’s the story on calling for help?”

  “We can’t call for help,” ToeJam said.


  “What do you mean?” screamed Jenkins. “I’m in pain. Call someone to come get us.”

  “We’re in a satcom dead zone. We must move south another mile or two for a signal.”

  “That won’t work either,” Toe said, grimacing in pain.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Even if we weren’t in a dead zone, the shooter’s first shot took out the satcom,” Toe replied. “It’s dead as a doornail.”

  “He took out our only means of communication with his first shot? That can’t be a coincidence,” I said.

  “None of this is a coincidence,” Toe continued. “The shooter knew where we’d reach a calm stretch of water and where the satcom would be useless and we’d be sitting ducks. He also knew where we stored our satcom in the K-Raft.”

  “And then he shot Mr. Jenkins,” James said.

  “He wasn’t shooting at me,” Jenkins said. “He hit me by accident. He was shooting at the boat.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It’s Jeannie they’re after, not me,” Jenkins affirmed.

  “I don’t understand,” I commented. “Why would anyone want to hurt Jeannie?”

  “They don’t want to hurt her; they want to kidnap her to use as leverage against me,” he said.

  “You know who’s doing this?” ToeJam screamed.

  “If I could just get pain meds,” Jenkins replied.

  “How about if I put my foot up your ass if you don’t answer our questions,” Toe fired back. He winced and grimaced in pain.

  “It sounds like you know what’s going on here,” I jumped in. “There are people’s lives at risk. You’d better talk or you will know what real pain is like. Now tell us... why is someone trying to hurt Jeannie?”

  “I’d like to hear this answer myself,” Jeannie said, walking in on the conversation. “Dad? Is this true?”

  “I’m sorry, Jeannie,” he said. “The shooter was hired by people who want to get to me by taking you and using you as leverage.”

  “You knew all this?” Jeannie barked at her father.

  “I’m so sorry,” he replied, grimacing and holding his side. “I thought I had this contained.”