Going Home (38 page)

Well, maybe this isn’t going to be a bad thing after all. “Who are you guys, and what are you doing out here?”

“We’re just a group of locals that don’t like the way the feds have come to
help.
Where are you headed?” he asked.

“I’m just trying to get home down near Altoona. I was up near Tallahassee when the shit hit the fan,” I replied.

“That’s a hell of a trip. I wouldn’t think most folks could even do it,” he said, looking over at my pack.

“Yeah, well, I have always kept my pack in the car, just in case. I’m close now, so it shouldn’t be too hard. All I have to do is make it through the forest.” He let out a grin when I said that.

“You’re heading to Altoona. You plan on going by the bombing range?” he asked.

“Maybe.” I wasn’t sure who the hell this was, or what they were up to yet, so I didn’t want to give too much away. “You guys the ones they were shooting at from the bridge last night?”

“Hu-hu, no, that wasn’t us. There are plenty of people around here that don’t like what’s going on. If we’re getting shot at, then someone has really fucked up,” he replied.

“So what’s up? What are you guys here for?” I asked.

“We saw you sneaking around, and we’re just curious what you were up to. Figured we would pay you a visit and see what’s up,” he said with a smile.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Whatever; we just wanted to check you out. As soon as we saw you, we knew you weren’t a threat to us,” he replied.

“Are you a threat to me?” I asked him. The XD was still in my hand. This was just a little weird. What the hell did these guys want, really?

“We aren’t a threat to anyone trying to live as a free man,” came the reply.

“So, then, who are you a threat to?” I asked with a sideways glance. I started to look around a little and saw, in addition to the two I already knew about, another guy. He caught my attention, as he had a long gun strapped to his pack and was holding an AK that looked a lot like the one this guy had.

He just smiled at me. “Anyone who stands in the way of it.”

I stood up, and he did as well. I looked around a minute and then stuck my hand out. He reached out and took it. “I’m Morgan,” I said as we shook hands.

“Name’s Norman,” he replied with a firm handshake. A quick round of introductions revealed the names of the others in his group. There were Roy and Frank, and then there was Daniel; he was the one with the bolt gun strapped to his pack.

As I was shaking his hand, I had to ask about the pack and rifle combo. “What pack is that?”

He gave me a grin. “Nice, isn’t it?” He turned slightly so I could see it. “It’s an Eberlestock Skycrane. Damn thing cost me a fortune, but with the way things are now, it was money well spent.”

“What kind of shooter you got in there?” I asked him.

“It’s a Remmy 700 SPS with Leupold glass on it,” he answered.

“Damn, you spent a shitload of cash on that whole setup. The bag and rifle, that’s some pricey goodies,” I said.

“Yeah, but I’m single, and it’s what I did in the Corps, so I wanted to keep my skills sharp. It isn’t the rifle I would like to have, but it gets the job done,” he replied.

Taking a look at my watch, about three, I had a while to go before I could leave, but I could try to get in touch with Sarge in a little bit.

“You guys have a group? Or is this all there is?” I asked.

Norman and his boys looked at one another, and then Norman said, “We have more folks but not too many.”

“Not like we didn’t try to get more folks on board, but most folks just didn’t get it. They damn sure wish they had now, though,” Frank said.

“Yeah, I can relate. I tried too. Most folks just didn’t get it. It was maddening how anyone could look around and not want to be prepared,” I said. These guys were all on alert. Someone was always looking back toward the river, and another was always looking out toward the chop. “Where are you guys headed, or are you just out here for a sneak ’n’ peek?”

“We heard about the roadblock here at the bridge and came over for a look,” Norman replied.

“Where are you guys out of?” I asked.

“We have a place out on the other side of Kerr’s Lake,” Norman answered.

“Well, sounds like we’re headed different directions,” I said.

“Not really; I asked about the range earlier because we were heading that way for a little look-see over there. Something’s up over there, and we want to get an idea what it is,” Norman said.

He went on to explain about the helicopters heard flying a path that sounded to be between NAS JAX or Camp Blanding and the range—at least they think the range. Their group was curious to see what was up, so these guys were sent out to find out what was going on. Norman was probably in his forties, former army, and a lifelong woodsman. Daniel was a marine recon sniper, only out a couple of years now, and another dedicated hunter. He was the designated tracker, as Norman said he could track a bumblebee through a briar.

Frank was just a good ole redneck. Having spent his entire life growing up in the woods and wilds of Florida, he was more comfortable outside than inside and had no idea what the Internet was. Roy made up for Frank’s ignorance on electronics. He was the youngest of the group, being in his late twenties, and had been a forward air controller in the air force. He spent three tours in Afghanistan and was a whiz with all things electronic.

The boy lay there in stark terror, looking at the two men standing over him; one had a machine gun pointed at him.

“Mike, check that one out,” Sarge said. “Get on your feet, boy, real slow like.”

The boy rolled to his side and stood up. Looking over, he screamed, “Daddy!”

Ronnie came up on the other side of the boat; he took a quick look at the body and then looked up at Sarge and shook his head. Mike had rolled the big man over on his back. He had taken two rounds from the SPW, one just under his jaw—it made a hell of a mess—and one through his clavicle. He was dead.

“You killed my daddy, you sons of bitches!” the boy screamed. He started to move forward; Sarge hit his sternum with the muzzle, pushing him back.

“Your daddy fired on us. We fired back, son. If you want to blame someone, blame him,” Sarge replied. The boy started to cry, crossing over the back of the boat to where his father lay in a bloody mess. He knelt beside him, clutching one of his big hands, and wept.

“We wasn’t going to hurt anyone. When he saw you guys an’ all your guns, it scared him. He accidentally pulled the trigger. It was an accident,” he said through tear-filled eyes. He was looking up at Mike, who was standing over him.

“What the hell were y’all doing out here to begin with?” Mike asked him.

“We’re just trying to get by. That’s all,” he mumbled.

Ted motored across the river to where the other three boats were. He had Phil sitting on the deck at the bow of the boat. Slipping the boat out of gear as he came up, he caught the side of Sarge’s boat. “They were lying up to ambush folks, collecting a
tax
from them,” he said as he tied a line to a cleat on the stern of Sarge’s skiff. Sarge looked over at the man sitting on the deck; he had his knees pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on them, and his arms wrapped around his legs.

“Pirates, huh?” Looking back at the boy, he said, “So your idea of getting by is to steal from folks on the river, is that it?”

The boy looked up. “We never hurt anyone. We only took a little.”

“Well, then, your daddy got exactly what he deserved. Mike, take all the guns. Ted, did you get his?” Sarge was looking over at the other pathetic bastard.

“Yeah, I got ’em,” Ted answered.

“You can’t take our guns. We need ’em,” Phil protested. He finally looked up when he realized they were taking all their firearms.

“Need ’em for what, Phil?” Mike asked.

“For protection an’ hunting. How else we suppose to feed ourselves?” Phil protested.

Sarge pointed to the body lying in the boat. “See what having guns did for you! You fuckers don’t need guns. Everyone around you does when you have ’em! You’re plain ole thievin’ white trash, and the world would be better off without you!” Sarge was furious.

Phil jumped to his feet. “Wait a damn minute!” he shouted. He was met by a butt stroke from Ted’s rifle and crumpled onto the deck with a groan.

“Ted, take that piece of shit back to his boat. Ronnie, go with him. Take any fuel he has and anything else we could use. Mike, pull the line on that tank and take it.” Sarge pointed to the fuel tank in Dale’s boat.

“How are we supposed to get back home?” the boy shouted.

“Not my problem, son. Next time, you better think about how you
try
to
get
by
. And you better be damn happy I don’t shoot your ass right here. I should,” Sarge bellowed at him.

That terrified look came across the boy’s face again. The thought of being shot out there on the river scared the shit out of him. Momma would never know what happened to him. Mike pulled the gas tank from the boat and set it into theirs. Ronnie tossed a line around a cleat on the front of the skiff and towed it across the river to the pontoon boat. Ted boarded the pontoon and took the gas tank and set it into his boat. He also took the half case of shine sitting on the deck. This elicited a “Hey!” from Phil. Ted answered him by drawing his pistol and pointing it at Phil’s face. He promptly raised his hands and sat down on one of the pedestal seats and hung his head.

Ronnie tied the skiff off to the pontoon. Ted climbed back into his boat and shoved off. “If we ever see you again, I’ll kill you,” Ted said as he put the boat in gear and moved out into the river where Sarge and Mike were waiting. Once all the boats were back together, Sarge pointed downriver, and they headed out in a string, leaving the other two boats rocking in their wake. With their goggles back on now, they raced down the river. All of them were thinking about what had just happened. All of them, being military men, considered it with detached emotion; it was an ambush, and they came out on top. Sarge was the only one a little distraught over it, not because he killed a man, but for the boy who was brought up by a man that put him in that position.

The Suwannee River was a twisting, turning cut of black water. It was almost the color of coffee, and even in the daylight, you seldom saw the bottom. Rounding a bend, Sarge was knocked off his cooler, flying forward onto the deck. The outboard raced as the shear pin on the prop broke away when it dug into the sandbar. Mike immediately pulled the throttle back and killed the engine. The other two boats went wide out into the river and then slowly came over toward the stricken boat. Sarge was on the deck, cussing a storm.

He stood up and looked at Mike with rage on his face. Mike just shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

“You damn dipshit! You hit the fuckin’ sandbar!” Sarge was trying to get his shit together.

The other two boats eased up. “What happened?” Ted called out.

“Dumbass, here, hit the sandbar. We’re going to have to replace the shear pin and hope that’s all that broke. You guys cover us while we sort this out,” Sarge said.

“Roger that,” Ronnie replied as he moved his boat out into the river, downstream from where they were. Ted took his boat and moved upstream.

Sarge looked up at Mike and pointed into the water at the stern of the boat. “Get in.”

“Aw, come on, Sarge, can’t this be done from in here?” He was looking into the cold dark water.

“Nope, now get your ass in the water, dipshit,” Sarge said as he pulled a small tool box out from under the console. Mike put one foot on the stern, took his carbine off, and hopped into the water with a splash. Sarge hit the switch on the throttle to raise the outboard out of the water. Mike stood in the knee-deep water, looking up. Linus had an evil grin on his face.

“What the fuck, man?” Mike complained.

Sarge handed him a ratchet with a socket and a pair of pliers. “Get to work, shit bird.” Then he sat down on the driver’s seat and opened another Sam Adams.

Even without a watch, Thad knew that it was early in the morning and that with the coming of dawn, people would start to come out. He decided to go ahead and try to get through Inverness before dawn. South of there was more forest, and he could find a place to lay up for the day. It was only eight or ten miles—shouldn’t be any real problem.