by Zack Finley
“I’m shifting to forward, brace yourself,” radioed Allie.
With a clunk, you could feel the engines change. The ferry continued moving away from the shore and only after a few moments did the pace of change slow. A throbbing shudder ran through the towboat as it began pushing the ferry forward.
The angle of the bow shifted slowly, first downriver and after about five minutes it was finally angled toward the other shore.
I poked my head in the wheelhouse. “Nicely done, Captain,” I said.
Even in the reflected glow of the gauges, you could see the ear-to-ear grin on Allie’s face. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I can say that is a relief. This is a lot heavier than my last vessel, and the controls are different.”
“I would never have guessed, still very well done,” I said.
“This is no speed demon, sir,” Allie said. “Everyone should settle down, it’s going to take us at least an hour to cross here. We are going back to where we found her. There is a boat ramp and a boathouse there. We’ll leave the ferry tied to the boathouse dock where we found her. Joel plans to hide the battery so it should still be here when we get back.”
“Why didn’t Razor bring back the dive boat and trailer it. I know it goes a lot faster than this?” I asked.
“We don’t know how reliable this ferry is,” Allie said. “If we lose the engine and Joel can’t get it restarted, we can still get most of our stuff to the other shore in the dive boat. It's just good insurance.”
“Excellent idea,” I said. “It makes a lot of sense. I guess we are towing it to save gas?”
“Yes. That was the plan,” said Allie.
I left her to her work, finding a place on the narrow towboat to rest out of the wind. It actually had a mini-cabin. Joel announced the generator on the boat was running and that we should charge everything possible.
The sun rose above the mountains behind us before we were even halfway across.
Someone cranked up the galley stove and had boiling water for us to mix in our freeze-dried food pouches.
Tom brought me one in the cabin. He sat on the bunk beside me.
“That poor kid is on his last legs. If we don’t take him in, he’ll starve to death in a few weeks. If diarrhea doesn’t get him first,” Tom said. His voice was flat and unemotional.
“What do you think we should do?” I asked.
“I want to take him with us. If we leave a team in Hickman, or wherever we find a boat, he should stay with them. Then I want to take him back to the Valley with us,” Tom said. His voice straining to stay unemotional.
“Okay,” I said. “How do you want to handle this?”
“He can ride with me in the pickup. If we need to abandon them, he can ride with me on my ninja,” Tom said.
“Let everyone else know he is staying. Can he be trusted with real weapons?” I asked.
“I’ll make sure he knows the ropes before giving him anything lethal,” Tom said, his voice catching in relief. “He is probably a good shot if he’s been killing squirrels with that pellet gun. But I’ll make sure he won’t shoot himself or anyone else.”
“Thanks for bringing me this fine turkey casserole,” I said, scraping the last of the package into my spoon. “It makes me wish for pork stew.”
“Yeah, but I prefer this to blood sausages,” Tom said. “Mine wasn’t bad. Some kind of breakfast skillet thing.” Tom left the cabin and crossed over onto the ferry.
“About 15 minutes out,” Allie radioed.
“Releasing dive boat,” Razor radioed.
I went to get ready to disembark. The sound of the towboat’s throbbing diesel completely drowned out the noise from the dive boat. Mike was securing the tow rope the way we usually did our lines for rappelling.
Allie put the towboat in neutral soon after Razor sped toward shore. We would wait for his okay to go further.
Razor and Ben tied the dive boat to the dock and began their reconnaissance.
The rest of us took the time to get the vehicles ready to move out and retrieve the electrical chargers and extension cords.
“Clear to disembark,” Razor radioed.
Allie shifted into forward gear once again, steering us toward a boat ramp on the right side of the boathouse and dock that Razor tied up to. The ferry was much wider than the boat ramp, but the adjacent sloping ground would be no problem for our pickups to traverse if needed. I wasn’t sure what the plan was for getting the dive boat back onto its trailer, but I was sure there was one.
The steady breeze and medium chop died down this close to the shore, though an occasional gust caught us amidships.
Allie must not have been happy with her approach vector, because she backed the ferry up for a few minutes before commencing a new push toward the boat ramp.
“Sorry about that,” Allie radioed. “I misjudged the impact of the wind.”
Everyone just nodded and most used the extra time to snooze or rest their eyes. Kurt and Tom were in his truck, discussing something intently. I knew Tom had meds that would tighten your guts up, pronto, having needed them on several occasions on deployments. Loose bowels were terrible enough if you were safe at home, but in enemy territory, diarrhea could be deadly.
Allie nudged the drive train in-and-out of forward, neutral, and reverse gears during our approach to the boat ramp. It seemed a lot more involved than the docking on the other side but what did I know.
“Brace for docking,” she radioed.
About a minute later we slid to a halt against the shore. In no time the pickup and trailer bumped onto the boat ramp and drove up to park beside the road. I waved the truck behind me to go first. I saw no reason to drive on the shore when we had a perfectly fine concrete ramp on our right side.
Tom figured it out and passed me, exiting onto the boat ramp. I followed immediately behind. Two guys pushed the ninjas off behind me. That left only Joel and Allie on the towboat.
Allie backed out slowly, scraping the covered dock to her left only a little before clearing it. I wasn’t sure where she was taking the towboat.
Razor and Ben helped trailer the dive boat while waiting for Allie to finish parking the ferry.
We all watched the ferry maneuver into place next to the boathouse. Joel was on the deck ready to lash it into place once the engines stopped.
He and Allie had the radio in constant use as they attempted to park the ferry against the dock without destroying the dock. Allie couldn’t see how close the boat was to the dock and Joel was guiding her in with a combination of hand gestures and sharp radioed commands.
I thought it was good we didn’t have anyone standing on the dock, just in case they wrecked it.
When it looked like the ferry was close, Mike and Ben got on their ninjas and left to scout the way.
I looked up as the rumbling of the towboat engine faded away, leaving an unbelievable silence. It took a few moments for the sounds of waves lapping on the shore and the rustling of dead leaves in the trees to reassert themselves as the dominant sounds.
The ferry hung over both sides of the dock house where it was now moored. A few minutes later Allie and Joel came running down the dock towards us.
We planned to continue west for a few hours more, pulling south of Big Sandy before aiming for the Mississippi River. While I thought Hickman was a good place to start downriver, primarily because of the ferry, wherever we got to the Mississippi River would likely work. There were a few more rivers to cross between us and our objective, but no more significant funnels. If one way was blocked, I was sure another road would be open.
“Danville Road clear,” Ben radioed. “Let us know when you leave.”
“Roger,” I radioed.
Allie climbed into my pickup and Joel jumped in with Tom and Kurt.
I led us out. “On the move,” I radioed. I heard a squelch click in response.
It felt odd to be driving during the day. Nearly normal. This area was sparsely populated especially during the winter.
Based on the maps we had, most of the houses in this region were around the lake near Big Sandy.
The road was bounded by thick hardwood forest. Brown, stark, and lifeless in January. Some cedars and an occasional pine provided some color contrast. We zipped by a few houses with smoke curling from their chimneys, but the number of cold ones significantly outnumbered those showing signs of life.
Just out of Faxon the paved forest road switched to gravel, and the scenery changed to rows and rows of some type of evergreen. This area must be owned by the timber companies because the untidy mostly hardwood forests were gone leaving a dense green forest of trees all the same age.
Whole swaths of forest were clear cut and replanted with seedlings. The road was clear of blockages, but it was very dusty. No signs of people anywhere. Most of the areas along creeks and streams were still hardwood. I suspected this was to protect waterways and keep erosion down. I didn’t know, it just provided an odd contrast.
Allie was back to monitoring the map for our scouts. The roads were poorly marked, and frequently the names on our map didn’t match the signage. Another reminder about how much we relied upon GPS before the crash.
After about an hour we returned to paved roads and successfully skirted Big Sandy. The terrain shifted from forests to farmland. Just north of Dresden, we swapped out scouts and ninjas, letting Ben and Mike rest, while recharging their ninjas. Craig and Joel took their turn as scouts.
I tried to get Allie to take a nap and hand off the navigation to someone else, but she insisted she was fine. I didn’t push as she was likely still recovering from her piloting adventure. I was worried she would just nod off, but she surprised me and stayed one step ahead of our scouts with her navigation.
We saw a lot more abandoned cars on the road forcing delays as we stopped to move vehicles off the main roadway. More abandoned vehicles were pointed north than south but not by as big a ratio as I expected. I don’t know how long ago the cars were left, but none seemed recent.
We swapped out scouts several times. Some roads appeared blocked by residents. If our scouts encountered that type of roadblock, they backed off and came back. When that happened, we sent the next scouting group on to the new route, while the backtracking scouts caught up with the pickups.
There were a lot of farm communities here and numerous small narrow roads. I didn’t begrudge them blocking the streets, having done it in Mecklin County. It just showed how effective it was. In this part of Tennessee, it just slowed us down, there always seemed another small county road to choose instead.
Our map of Kentucky was not as detailed, so we stayed on Stateline Road until we reached one of the main roads into Hickman, Kentucky. Hickman was a significant agricultural port on the Mississippi for grain and soybean shipments. A single barge of grain or soybeans could feed everyone in Hickman and the surrounding community for years. The town also had grain silos. This abundance should make it an essential asset for surviving elements of our government to control and distribute.
As much as I wanted to get to Hickman today, we needed to know if we’d run into trouble there. I sought to sneak in and avoid a confrontation. The area southwest of Hickman was mostly highlands and forests interspersed with large farms. I asked the scouts to find us a place to spend the rest of the day, and within a few minutes, they had us a spot.
The track they found for our camp was passable, barely. Tom and I took the first watch, allowing the others to catch some sleep. I wanted everyone to get some rest. Tonight was likely to be a long night, and I hoped to spend tomorrow on the river.
Before the crash, Hickman lived and died by the river. Despite its levee wall, the Mississippi River flooded parts of Hickman several times each decade. Based on my map it looked like much of the riverfront could be approached from the southwest, avoiding the population centers. I had my eye on the Dorena-Hickman Ferry to take us down the river.
Hickman also had a Coast Guard base. It might have a working radio allowing us to contact the Valley. Having an update on Andy’s party near Helena, Arkansas wasn’t essential, but it could make a big difference.
If the Coast Guard was still on site, they could provide some insight into the conditions downriver and potentially across the rest of the country.
I was still unclear about whether my whole team should go downriver together or whether I should leave some in Hickman. It all depended upon what transportation we found. My preference was to take the ferry and the dive boat. It would allow us to bring everyone; giving us the greatest flexibility.
If we couldn’t locate a bigger boat, we would have to split up, leaving three in Hickman. To maximize the number rescued, only Tom and Allie would bring the first batch of Andy’s crew back upriver.
In Helena, we’d get all of Andy’s crew across the river, then send the wounded and noncombatants back to Hickman. Two teammates and I would remain with Andy, and we would begin walking to the Valley with his crew. We’d have the ninjas to scout, and maybe we could find enough gasoline for vehicles to shorten the trip.
Or, it was also possible we’d find a second boat downriver and bring everyone back at once. The lack of long distant communication made every scenario riskier.
For January, the weather remained favorable for our expedition. I could hope that would continue for a few more days. It was below freezing at night and a raw 40 degrees during the day, but no rain or snow. Clouds building to the west hinted the favorable weather might be changing for the worst.
Inclement weather could help us sneak through town easier, but ice and ninja tires weren’t safe combinations. A mixed bag, like most things.
We got everyone up about an hour after sunset. Four guys left on ninjas leaving two in each pickup plus Kurt. We intended to advance in our normal pattern, with the pickups moving from one secure location to the next. It wasn’t snowing, yet. We needed to complete our scouting expedition before we started leaving tracks.
“These people have a lot of grain trailers,” radioed Razor. “Most of the roads into town are blocked by them. The best route through is on the railroad tracks. It bypasses most of the barriers.”
Razor then gave us the intersection where we’d meet our escort.
We met up with Craig just as intermittent snow flurries started. He suggested Allie come with him and Joel to check out the ferry, while the rest check out the Coast Guard base. The Dorena-Hickman ferry landing was to our left and the Coast Guard to our right.
“Clear to the Coast Guard offices,” radioed Ben. “Razor and I are breaking in now to look for threats.”
Once we got that message, we began the bumpy journey down the railroad tracks. Fortunately, there was a service road paralleling the railroad for about half the route so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Still easier than moving grain trailers off the roadway without our semi and probably a lot stealthier.
As we approached the river, the railroad tracks ended but the railroad bed continued. We remained on it all the way to the Coast Guard offices. Our guys cut and peeled back the fence into an area where piles of buoys were stored next to the Coast Guard offices. We were met by Ben and Razor who reported the offices were empty of people, but that it still had a radio. They indicated a substantial radio antenna barely visible in the freshening snow.
No vehicles were parked near the main building, and the last person out must have locked the gate.
“We haven’t checked out either the cutter or the boathouse and other external buildings,” Ben explained. “We didn’t search the main building for anything but threats, so there may be some useful items there. It looked to us like there were several people here after the crash. My guess is they left after a few weeks. Someone locked the gate when they left, and it doesn’t look like anyone broke in to scavenge. There could be people staying on the cutter, but we haven’t heard anything coming from there.”
I really wanted to check out that cutter. Three of us split off to sneak down the dock, while the two other team members
and Kurt surveyed the out-buildings. The dock went over the flood wall. We could have taken the gravel road through the open flood gate, but the dock put us right alongside much of the barge.
This cutter was designed to tend the giant buoys that directed shipping along the river. The entire front of the vessel was a massive barge stacked with red and green steel buoys. There were coils of steel cable and large blocks of concrete weights on the deck. Several small cranes or hoists hulked overhead. Thermal scans showed no signs of life in this area.
Two ship’s boats were resting on the second deck of the barge, held aloft by hoists. No one was hiding in the small building below them. The barge element appeared to be separable from what seemed to be a massive Coast Guard push boat. The push boat looked like a cross between a large tug and the ferry towboat. It made the ferry towboat we took across the Tennessee River look like a toy. The ship was about 75 feet long and a little over 20 feet wide. A nameplate declared it was the USCG Cumberland.
