Going Home (44 page)

Sitting on my limb seat, I put the Merrill’s on for a change. Grabbing the pot and dumping out the contents, I went back to the run and filled it with water. Back at the camp, I set up my stove and put the water on to warm. As the water heated, I dug the razor and soap out of the kit and set them aside and then found the mirror in the bag and laid it with them. A shave would make me feel like a new man. In between, I would shake the bags with the clothes in them. I was going to let them soak for an hour and a half.

Once the water was hot, I soaked one of the bandanas in it and wrapped it around my face. After repeating it another time, I used the bar soap to lather up and shaved. Not quite as good as having real cream but not bad. It took several passes to carve the beard off my face; but when I was done, my face felt so much better. Now that that was taken care of, the clothes had been soaking for right at ninety minutes. Using a pair of the nitrile gloves from the FAK, I pulled the clothes out and wrung out as much of the solution as I could and hung them to dry on the outer limbs of the dead tree. When the old tree came down, it knocked a hole in the canopy, and sunlight poured in. My laundry should dry pretty quick, I hope.

Grabbing the pot, my filter, and all my water containers, I picked up the AK and went back to the run. After rinsing out the pot, I set up the filter and started filling containers. I was knelt down beside a big tree with a small palm growing at its base. Starting to hear voices, I quickly finished filtering water and gathered all my stuff. The voices were coming from up the run, so I quickly headed back to the tree. With the AK at the ready, I watched the run, still looking for the source of the voices. Eventually a canoe came into view; three of those hippies were in it, two men and a girl. They were working their way down the run. I saw the tips of fishing poles sticking above the side of the boat as they went by. The girl in the center of the boat was firing a glass pipe with a BIC. She let off the lighter and took a long drag before passing it to the guy in the rear.

I sat there shaking my head, watching these idiots smoke as they went down the river. I had done this run many times, and it was usually a one-way trip. A shuttle ran between the takeout and park. There wouldn’t be any shuttle now, so they would have to try to paddle back up. A couple of years ago, a woman was killed by a gator while swimming in the run. There were real dangers on this little piece of water.

After they were out of sight, I decided to eat something. I heated some water in a canteen cup for some coffee and used a heater to warm an MRE. There was still a pack of crackers and a pouch of cheese, so I snacked on those while I waited for everything to heat. I guess it’s the kid in me, but I love the cheese and crackers in an MRE; it’s the best part. Once the water was heated, I made my coffee and sipped on that while I waited for the heater to finish.

Just as I was tearing the top off the MRE, I heard some shouts come from down river. Sitting there with the pouch in my hand, half opened, I listened to the swamp. I heard the girl; she was pretty excited about something. Then a shot, a loud shot, and she screamed. Loud bangs from something hitting the aluminum canoe floated through the trees. I reached over and picked up the AK, checking the safety. From where I was, I couldn’t see downriver. I was on the upriver side of the trunk, and the tangled ball of the tree’s crown blocked my view.

Silence filled the swamp again; all the sounds died out. I chalked it up to them finding a gator or a snake and shooting it. With everything quiet again, I went back to my brunch. I had just stuffed the last bite of beef ravioli in my mouth when the bow of a canoe came into view. This one was a fiberglass boat painted in a camo pattern. The girl was in the center, crying, with a camo-clad man on either end. Both of them had a rifle in their lap, but from where I was, I couldn’t tell what kind.

Following that canoe was another, with three men in it, all dressed like the first guys, in camo. A man sat in the center of this boat with a rifle sticking up between his knees. This boat was a Gheenoe with a trolling motor hanging off the stern. It was up out of the water, and they were paddling along. I just didn’t like the looks of this crowd, and I didn’t see the other two guys that had been with the girl. They were obviously raiders of some sort.

Sitting in the dark with his thoughts, Ted heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. It was somewhere out there; he didn’t know where, but he did know who was probably on it. Before they deployed, he never liked those assholes with DHS. They strutted around like they were a higher power. Since the implementation of martial law, the DHS secretary was now the de facto ruler of the United States of America. And while they never let him or the other guys from Fifth Group in on what was going on, they had a pretty good idea. He and the guys in his team had a new name for DHS, Dick Head Security.

Oh sure, they strutted around like they were King Shit on Turd Island; but the couple of times they actually got into it with them, they looked more like the Disabled Home Security. They were full of piss and vinegar; but when the metal hits the meat, they just can’t compete with real training and experience. Ted knows of two of them that will never “enforce the law” again. It was time for his relief, so Ted went inside and woke Sarge up. The old man rolled out of his rack and had his boots on in one fluid motion. The old bastard never ceased to amaze him.

They walked out onto the deck together. Sarge was stretching and sorting his gear out. Ted stood there in silence while he got squared away but couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“You make more noise than a damn troop of Boy Scouts,” Ted said.

Sarge never even looked up from the primping he was doing. “Shut up, fuck stick.” Sarge finished and checked his weapon. Looking up at Ted, he said, “You still here?”

“What the hell are we going to do?” Ted asked.

“Well, you guys are going to have to decide which side of this fight you’re going to be on,” Sarge replied while staring out into the darkness.

“What do you mean? Which side?” Ted asked with a bit of confusion.

“If what you guys told me was true, I was in long enough to know what’s about to go down. With the current administration in the White House, they are going to attempt a bit of
cleansing
.” Sarge slowed and stretched out the last word.

Ted stood there for a minute, mulling that over. “You really think they’re going to try that? I mean, what’s the point?”

“The point, son, is that there are two kinds of people in this country. Those that think for themselves, take care of themselves, and know they have to work for what they want in this world. Then there are those that are happy to do what they are told as long as they are fed, clothed, and given a free cell phone and place to live. As long as those in control provide for their needs, even if they aren’t to the level they want but are just enough to satisfy them, then they will paint their ass white, put their heads down, and graze with the rest of the antelope,” Sarge stated matter-of-factly.

Ted stood there rocking on his heels. He raised his M4 up, holding it by the fore grip with the MagPul stock resting in the crook of his elbow. He looked over at the old first sergeant, the finest example of a warrior he had ever seen. “There is a third kind; some of us are sheepdogs.” With that he turned and started into the cabin.

“Good man, good man,” Sarge replied, nodding his approval.

Ted went in and pulled his sleeping bag out, laying it on the cot. He kicked off his boots and climbed in. He lay there for a minute, thinking about what Sarge had just said before drifting off to sleep.

Mike was lying in his cot sound asleep. He was sleeping so deeply that he wasn’t even dreaming. It had been a long time since he slept like this. But the current company he was with and the location they were in provided him enough comfort that he slept like the dead. That was until Sarge came in and waved a broken banana oil ampule under his nose. He immediately gagged and started to cough. Sarge moved quickly down the line of cots, placing the ampule under the noses of the other two. In short order, they were all gagging and coughing. They looked up through teary eyes to see the old man standing over them, laughing a belly laugh through his Promask gas mask.

Mike sat up trying to stifle the cough. “Damn you, old man!” he choked out.

“Rise an’ shine, you candy asses!” came the muffled reply through the mask.

Sarge pulled the mask off as he went out the door onto the deck, laughing all the way. The other three rolled out of their racks and started getting ready for the day. Sarge stood watch the rest of the night without waking his relief. He wanted the boys to get some rest; he wanted clear heads today while they went over what they needed to do. Outside, Sarge had a coffeepot set up, a little single burner stove. The coffee was bubbling up into the percolator when he picked it up and poured his porcelain 101st Airborne mug full. He sat down in the camp chair and listened as the Three Stooges bumped and banged around inside; the sound of all the scraping and banging brought a smile to his face as he took a sip.

Mike was the first to come out on the deck. He had his Gortex Parka on against the cold, his hands were stuffed into the pockets, and his M4 was slung over his shoulder. “You … are …. a rotten old fuck,” he said.

Sarge was blowing on the cup and started to laugh. “Worked, didn’t it?” he replied.

“Yeah, effective,” Mike replied. “Got another cup?”

“On the shelf in the kitchen,” Sarge replied as he took another sip.

“You call that a kitchen? I wouldn’t feed my dog out of there.” Mike fired off as he opened the door.

“Good thing you didn’t bring him,” Sarge responded.

Mike led the crew back out to the deck, each of them with a mug of his own. All of them had the Screamin’ Eagle on it, and most of them were chipped or cracked. All of them looked like they had been used to drain motor oil from an old Peterbilt before the old coot turned them into coffee cups. As they came out, Sarge lifted the pot and started pouring the cups full.

Doc was looking into the bottom of his cup. “Have you
ever
washed these things?”

Sarge moved the pot over to his cup. “That which doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger there, Doc,” he said as he topped the cup off.

Mike held his cup out, and Sarge started to pour it full and then shifted a bit and poured hot coffee all over his knuckles. “Shit! That’s hot!” Mike yelped as he set the cup down, shaking his hand in the cool air.

“That’s for calling me a rotten old fuck earlier,” Sarge said with a sly grin.

10

Rolling down the road for a short piece, Thad passed a small store on the left. Several people were standing out front in a line. Again, it was another example of the emergence of a barter economy. The folks standing out front had the same assortment of commodities in their hands—a goat on a leash and more chickens—and a young boy had a stringer of bluegills. There were more bikes and trailers, and if he had been in a better mood, he would have laughed at the lawn tractors with the little trailers on them. As the truck rumbled by, many sets of eyes were on him; they undoubtedly heard the two shots.

Heads on swivels tracked the truck as he passed, but no one did any more than that. Seeing the sign for the store with a “Campers Welcome” sign hanging from it, Thad started to form a picture in his head about the men he just encountered. They had probably been down here in their campers and probably had a family with them. That thought made him pause. But then he thought again that he wasn’t the cause of what happened; he just reacted. Thad decided right then that he wasn’t going to give anyone the benefit of the doubt any longer. If you appeared to be a threat to him or his family, he was going to kill you.

Thad knew he was close; it wasn’t far. He was being lulled by the view. Huge old oaks grew on either side of the road, broken occasionally by fields or houses. He thought back to Morgan and wondered where he was. The thought that maybe he should have taken him home popped into his head. But it was so far out of the way that it would have added a hundred miles to his trip. Besides, Morgan probably wouldn’t have let him anyway.