Going Home (46 page)

I had finally killed all the time I could; there was nothing else to do, and I was starting to go stir crazy. Time to go. Checking my clothes one last time, they appeared dry, so I took them down and changed into them. While doing so, I made another discovery. You know the good thing about ticks? You can see them and pull them off; but chiggers, on the other hand, you cannot. My legs were covered in little red spots, as well as my waistline. Just looking at them, I started to itch, but I didn’t scratch yet. The first time you scratch one of them, you will claw your hide off; nothing feels better than to dig at them. I remember taking the little one to Lake Dorr when she was littler to swim. She lay in the sand and played, and the next day she was absolutely covered in chiggers. That was the first time I had ever seen anyone get chiggers from the sand.

After dressing and lacing up my boots, I started to pack everything back up. The weather had warmed up nicely, and I didn’t need a coat; my long-sleeve shirt was plenty. However, I did make sure the light coat was easily accessible because as soon as the sun went down, it would cool off. Thankfully, it was cool; if not, there was no way in hell I could be in this swamp in the summer. The damn skeeters would carry me away. My activity drew the curiosity of a squirrel that came out onto the limb of a juniper tree not far from me.

The little rat wasn’t sure what to make of me and sat there on his perch, flipping his tail. I looked up at him with a smile. I had raised several of the rats and always enjoyed watching them. “What are you looking at?” I said. His little tail stopped, and his body stiffened. Then he started to bark. He raised absolute mortal hell at me. Aggravating little shit.

Once everything was packed, and I had double-checked to make sure, I strapped the Devildog around my waist and hefted the pack onto my shoulders. After adjusting the waist belt, I picked up the AK and started to move up river a bit, looking for a shallow place to cross it. I didn’t have to go far to find a spot where the water was only about a foot deep, with a white sandy bottom. Having been on this river many times, I knew that pretty bottom looked nice and firm; however, it was anything but firm.

Before venturing in, I looked around for a large stick to brace myself with. Finding what I needed, I made my way to the edge of the creek and started into it. It didn’t take long for the stick to come in handy, as a step with my right foot sunk it halfway to my knee. Using the stick for support, I wrenched it out and continued on. The entire time I was in the water, I was listening for the telltale banging that would indicate someone was coming downriver from the campground but never heard anything. I guess the hippies don’t like to go out after dark in the swamp.

The other thing I thought about was gators. Although with the cooler weather, they were not much of a concern. With things warming up, they would certainly start to move around a bit, looking for a sunny spot to warm up. This close to the campground, though, there aren’t too many gators; farther down was an entirely different story. Juniper Creek runs into Lake George, which was connected to the St. John’s and was absolutely chock-o-block full of the big lizards.

The crossing went without incident, save one more foot extraction. On the other side, I hunkered down in the brush for a minute to get my bearings with the compass. From my work on the map earlier, I knew I had to take a heading of about 150 degrees and follow it pretty close. I wanted to hit a strip of land that ran through a chain of lakes, to the east of the bombing range. Norm’s guys had mentioned that something was going on over there, and I didn’t want to get too close to it.

Poor Norm; I started to think about him and his boys. I wondered how Daniel was doing. No time for that; checking the compass, I started out on my heading. It felt like squirrel hunting, the way I was slipping through the swamp, checking the ground for each step, using what I call the fox walk. This was something I read about a long time ago and started using while hunting. Instead of coming down on the heel of the foot, your foot comes down on the outside edge of the ball. Then you roll your foot into the step with the heel coming down last. If there was anything underfoot, you could usually feel it and either reposition it or move your foot. It was not as effective in these Belleville’s, but it still worked.

I was closer to the campground than I suspected. The smell of cooking fires was drifting through the woods, and I thought I heard something. It was clanking, like pots and pans or something, although I couldn’t be sure with the tinnitus ringing in my ears. I sure wish I had used more hearing protection in my younger days. My head stayed on a swivel—take a step, listen, take a step, and listen. This makes for very, very slow progress, but it was still light out, and I didn’t want to stumble upon anyone. My clothes were earth tones and not camo; so if anyone looked my way, they would likely see me. Getting closer to the campground, the noise picked up. There was no doubt many people were here. If I remember right, I should be east of the Fern Hammock loop. It was one of the primitive loops and had some pretty nice campsites in it.

The closer I got, the louder the sounds of people became. Fortunately, it was by now getting on about six o’clock and the light was starting to fade, especially under the canopy I was walking through. Mixed with the smell of wood smoke was the scent of cooking food. I couldn’t discern any one aroma in particular; it was several things mixed into a potpourri of smells. I caught brief glimpses of flames through the brush and the occasional voice, never much and always fleeting. Before I even realized, I was past the campground. The first indicator was the silence, other than the change of the critter shift. All the squirrels were gone now; some birds were calling from their nests, and the night shift was coming on.

As luck would have it, I had come down a finger of the swamp that came right to the edge of Highway 40. The light was almost gone now, so I dropped the pack and took a knee. Finding the NVGs, I pulled them out and strapped them to my head, turning them on. Giving the tube a minute to warm up, I sat in the dark listening to the sounds of the night shift. A sudden noise to my seven o’clock caused me to spin around and raise the AK, flipping it off safe. Something was moving out there, probably an animal, but better safe than sorry. I flipped the goggles down and looked out into the woods.

I couldn’t see anything; there was nothing to see, but the sounds continued to increase. It sounded as if a pack of wild hogs was coming through the bush. I knew what was out there, but it didn’t help my heart rate at the moment. As my heart pounded in my ears, the beast of the darkness came out into view. The first thing I saw was his fiery eyes in the glow of the goggles. He was low to the ground and was coming right at me. It sounded like he was dragging a mountain bike on its side behind him.

Then he came fully into view—his armored shell and long tail. A damn armadillo makes more noise than any other animal out there. In a dark and spooky place, they can scare the absolute shit of you! I started to giggle to myself. These damn things had caused me increased heart rate while deer hunting, standing in a stand in the quiet. One of them starts through the underbrush, and you can just see the ginormous fourteen-point buck; his rack looks like a rocking chair on his head.

With my attention back on the task at hand, I spent some time looking out at Highway 40. I couldn’t see anything either way; there was nothing to cause any concern. Satisfied there wasn’t anything out there, I eased up to the edge of the bush and made a rush across the road. I just knew someone had to have heard me. The pack jumping around, the weapons and mags, and other associated gear sounded as if I was dragging a tin trash can across the damn road with me.

“Well, what’s the plan, Sarge?” Mike asked after taking a sip from his cup.

Sarge sat there with the cup in his lap, holding it with both hands. He was staring down into it and swirling the coffee around. “It all depends, really. We need some more info. Those kids they sent out to look for you isn’t a good sign.”

Doc was holding his cup up, looking at it suspiciously. “Yeah, seems a little heavy handed,” he said.

“It would appear they are playing for keeps,” Sarge said, still looking into the cup.

“But for what? What the hell are they planning on doing? What’s the point? They talked up that flare for a week before it went off. Everyone knew it was coming, just not that it would cause this much damage,” Ted said.

Sarge stood up. “The flare didn’t cause all this damage. No doubt it contributed to it, but not all this. There’s more at work here. And as for why, the current administration has made no attempt to conceal their desire for a fundamental shift in this country. Remember, he said he was going to
transform
this
nation
. Well, what better chance? What if—and this is just a crazy old retired vet talking here, you know, one of the guys on the DHS watch list—they either detonated or allowed to be detonated an EMP type device?”

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Doc said, finally risking a sip from the cup he had been inspecting.

“Maybe, but what better cover? Hell, there may not even have been a flare. I don’t know. We don’t know enough yet, but we have to figure this out,” Sarge replied.

The men stood there in silence, drinking their coffee and looking out into the swamp. The sounds of the swamp coming to life were all around them, and the swamp was filled with fog rising off the water. Finally, Sarge spoke up. “We need to get this place up and operational. The panels need to be installed to collect as much sunlight as possible while being somewhat concealed. We need to get the radios set up and the power supply—that’s our first priority. Ted, I want you to get the radio you had and the one we got off those boys set up, and start monitoring them for any traffic. Just do not, under any circumstances, key the mic, understand?”

“Roger that.” Ted went over and began to open some of the Pelican cases they brought, pulling out radios and carrying them inside.

“Mike, I need you and Doc to set up the panels. There should be enough cable to run it back into the cabin. I’ll work on setting up my rigs. We also need to pull the battery from one of the boats and put it in mine. I’m going to rig one of the radios in it so that we can move away from here to transmit if we need to.”

“Where do you want to put the panels?” Doc asked.

Sarge stepped out to the edge of the deck and pointed up into a large cypress tree. “See that bracket up there? That’s where I hang a couple of them when I am out here hunting. Put them up there.”

“Don’t you mean poaching, when you’re out here poaching?” Mike said with a snicker.

Sarge looked over at him. “Do you want to go swimming?” He turned and went into the cabin.

Doc stood there on the deck, looking at Mike. “How long have you guys known him?”

“Hell, seven, maybe eight years. Why?” Mike was looking up at the bracket in the tree.

“I know you guys all know each other, and I trust you guys, but this is all getting a little crazy, don’t ya think?” Doc was staring out into the water.

“You got a better idea? We talked about some of this before we ever left. Those assholes with DHS have a real hard-on right now. They just can’t wait for the chance to go out and kill a bunch of people. You remember when they started talking about providing aid? Who was and wasn’t on that list? Their plan to confiscate weapons, to find anyone who had stored anything—food, water, fuel, and, certainly weapons—and take it all? How it was
unfair
that some of those
extremists
had hoarded all that stuff. I think the old man is right, and the shit is really about to hit the fan.” Mike was looking right at him when he replied.

“You’re right, I just never thought the army I know and love would ever go for something like this,” he said with a hint of sorrow in his voice.

“It’s not. That’s why they sent the amateur hour out to look for us. You didn’t see anyone from the teams around, did you? You on board with this?” he asked.

“Yeah, not like there is any choice. If what Sarge said is true, then I am damn sure on board,” Doc replied, setting his cup down. “He makes the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted. Let’s get to work.” Mike slapped him on the back, and the two set about finding all the equipment they needed to set up the power system.

Back in the cabin, Ted was setting up the crypto gear, and Sarge was setting up his system. “We need some more table space, Sarge,” Ted called out as he set the second radio on the little table.

“Yeah, we’re going to have to make a run into town tonight and hit the hardware store for some lumber. We’ll build some here and some shelves. I have a little bit left over from building this place. Out back is one of them plastic garden storage things. There’s tools and shit in there. Let me set this up, and we’ll see what we got,” he said as he set the big radio on the kitchen counter.

Ted and Sarge walked outside. Mike called over to Sarge as soon as they came out. “Hey, old man, how in the hell do you expect us to get up there?” he said, pointing up the big tree.