Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (37 page)

“Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

“You’re welcome,” Tremble said, then pulled George’s uniform shirt out of his belt and cut a piece off the tail to gag him before tying his hands with the paracord and removing the cuffs. He hid the other items as promised and dropped the knife just out of George’s reach before starting back up the stream to the AT. The mostly uphill jog back to the others was grueling, but he had no time to spare. He reached them, gasping for breath, and bent over at the waist, hands on his knees as he sucked in long ragged breaths.

“I … I put the dead guard on the southbound trail … so … so maybe they’ll look that way first … we got maybe fifteen minutes before we’re expected back at Mount Weather, and that might stretch a bit. I think we got an hour or two at most to get across Highway 7 and find a hiding place. Are … are you ready?”

“What’d you do with the other one?” Wiggins asked.

“No time. Tell you later,” Tremble gasped.

Wiggins nodded and walked to where Keith lay on a crude stretcher, holding Wiggins’ pack and looking uncomfortable and embarrassed at his own helplessness. Tex grunted and shouldered her pack and Tremble moved to the other end of the stretcher.

“Let’s lift on three,” he said, and counted down. The load was well balanced and not as bad as he’d anticipated, but he knew negotiating the steep downhill path would likely make him rethink that soon.

“Take the lead and let’s get the hell out of here, Tex,” he said.

Downtown Riverwalk

Wilmington, North Carolina

Day 17, 7:25 a.m.

Jerome Singletary stood on the dock, watching Jermain Ware loading extra ammunition aboard and feeling perverse pride in his little two-boat armada, thankful it hadn’t been nearly as difficult to put together as he’d anticipated. Flat-bottom aluminum fishing boats were apparently not high on the ‘things to be looted’ list. He’d found several stacked in the back at the local outlet of a major chain store, with electric trolling motors and batteries at the same source. Charging the batteries had been a bit more of a challenge, but with Kwintell Banks’ grudging approval, he’d used the generator at the “UBN Provisional HQ.”

Best of all, he’d managed to pull it off without revealing he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He’d been equally fortunate to find a booklet of river charts in the third boat searched. He’d pored over it, hoping for a clue as to the whereabouts of Levi’s hideout. He knew from eavesdropping it was on the Black River, a tributary of the Cape Fear, and two to four hours from the Wilmington terminal. His major problem was he didn’t know the speed upon which that travel time was based. He did know it couldn’t be too fast, because Levi’s boat had only the small outboard and the electric trolling motor. He’d also heard them talk about weeping willow trees, which he hoped could help identify it if he could just get close.

Though truth be known, the location of Levi’s camp was a matter of monumental indifference to him. He had no intention of leading Banks’ men to it if he could at all avoid it. He doubted Levi would surrender easily. Bullets would be flying and Jerome Singletary had no desire to be in the middle of a gunfight. Rather, he planned to guide their boats ashore somewhere along the river with the stated intention of scouting Levi’s camp from the landward side, then slipping away from his captors in the woods. It was a long shot, but pretty much the only shot he had.

He felt vibration through his feet and looked up to see Kwintell Banks striding down the dock from the riverwalk, his entourage in tow.

“You ready, Singletary?” Banks asked.

Singletary bobbed his head. “Just about. We’re waitin’ for the powerboat to come around. We’ll put one man to drive the powerboat and tow the electric boats up the Cape Fear to the Black, that way we save the batteries. Then he’ll anchor the powerboat in the river and get in with us. That’ll give us three men in each boat and we go the rest of the way quiet like.” Singletary paused. “Should be more than enough, seeing as how we’re sneaking up on ‘em. There aren’t any men there except Levi and the old man. The rest are just women and kids.”

Banks looked over at his lieutenant for confirmation. “How ‘bout it Jermain? Y’all ready?”

Jermain Ware nodded. “Like he said, everything is ready soon as the rest of the boys get here with the powerboat.”

“All right,” Banks said, “remember you in charge. This shithead’s just the guide, so don’t trust him none.”

Jermain nodded again and Banks smiled and motioned one of his entourage forward. Singletary noted for the first time the man was carrying a bag. From the looks of it, a heavy bag.

“Matter of fact,” Banks said, “I got a little present for you, Singletary.”

Singletary watched, horror stricken, as the minion set the bag down and extracted what looked like a cannonball attached to a leg shackle via a thick steel chain.

Banks laughed, enjoying Singletary’s reaction. “Found this in one of the local museums. All sorts of interesting stuff in museums. Practical too.” His smile faded. “Lift your pants leg.”

“Just a minute! That wasn’t the deal—”

Banks drew his gun and pointed it at Singletary’s head. “Lift your pants leg. One. Two …”

Singletary stooped to lift his right pants leg and Banks’ grinning minion hurried over to shackle the steel ball to Singletary’s leg.

“I’ll drown if I fall overboard!”

Banks shrugged. “Then don’t fall overboard. Did you actually think I was dumb enough to let you out on the river where you could escape? No, you gonna be on the front of the first boat in, just in case it’s an ambush or something. And in case you feel stupid enough to maybe try to cap some of my boys and unlock yourself”—he held up a padlock key—”ain’t but one key and it’s in my pocket, and I’m stayin’ right here.”

Banks looked over at Jermain. “He give you any trouble, or if it looks like he’s bullshittin’ us, or you take this Levi’s camp and it ain’t got the gold and silver and grenades and everything he promised, you just throw his punk ass out of the boat in the middle of the river. Don’t be bringing his sorry ass back. You understand?”

Jermain grinned. “Straight up, boss.”

Levi Jenkins’ Fishing Camp

Black River, North Carolina

Day 17, 8:30 a.m.

Anthony McCoy watched his grandchildren climb in the flat-bottom boat, almost vibrating with excitement at the prospect of ‘going to town.’ He suppressed his smile and addressed them in a stern voice.

“Y’all settle down now, and put them life jackets on. Bein’ on the river is serious business and y’all can’t be poppin’ around like jumping beans, ya hear?”

“Yes, Grampa,” said the children in unison, marginally curbing their exuberance as they donned life jackets.

Anthony heard footsteps on the small dock and looked up to see Levi approaching with Celia and Jo, the two women looking almost as excited as the children. He held the boat while the women climbed in and got the children settled, then stood and nodded at Levi.

“Y’all should be there in two hours, now that we feel comfortable running in daylight. When is the Coastie patrol boat gonna be here?”

Levi shook his head. “He’s not coming up this far. I agreed with Chief Butler on the radio to just meet ‘em at the Brunswick River intersection. Nothing much to worry about on the upper part of the river and that saves them some time. Besides, Butler can’t make it, so I don’t want anyone else knowing our exact location. And though he didn’t say it, I also know taking the time to escort us is a strain on resources. Everybody’s got enough on their plate as it is these days. I appreciate the escort service and I don’t want to abuse it.”

Anthony’s face clouded. “Why am I just hearin’ about this now?”

“‘Cause I knew you’d get your bowels in an uproar, that’s why. It’s only an hour’s run to the intersection with the outboard, and I’m well-armed. We’ll be fine until we meet up with the Coasties.”

Anthony looked unconvinced. “I don’t know, Levi, maybe you should postpone the trip until dark and run with the NV goggles and electric motors, just to be safe. Or maybe not go at all until we can work something better out.”

Levi cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe you’d like to explain that to Celia and Jo and the kids,” he said softly. “They been here three weeks and they’re pretty much starved for some socializing. I didn’t really realize how bad it was impacting them until I saw how they perked up when Wiggins and Tex were here. They’re really looking forward to this trip and I don’t want to be the one to tell ‘em it’s not happening. Fort Box is all we got that passes for a town nowadays. So if you want ‘em to stay here, you go right ahead and tell ‘em.”

Levi looked at Anthony, one eyebrow cocked in a silent question.

Anthony sighed and shook his head. “All right, all right. But you call me on the radio the first thing when you get to Fort Box.”

“I will. But why don’t you come with us? We can set out extra feed for the animals to tide them over a day or so. I’m more concerned with leaving you here alone than I am with our trip.”

Anthony shook his head again. “I’ll be fine, and somebody needs to stay here just in case. You never know if you’ll get delayed for some reason, and we can’t risk the livestock. Besides, you’ll need the room if you can talk Jimmy into coming back with you.”

Levi nodded, but didn’t move, reluctant to leave on a note of discord. Anthony sensed his hesitation and smiled. “Y’all go on now. Don’t keep the Coasties waiting, else they might not be so accommodating next time.”

Levi hugged Anthony and got in the boat.

Gibson Farm

On the Black River

West of Currie, NC

Day 17, 8:00 a.m.

Luke sat in the bow, watching as Vern Gibson deftly maneuvered the boat away from the riverbank. He had Long and Washington with him, and they were all clad in work clothes provided by the Gibson men. They were all long overdue haircuts and had several days’ beard growth, so the only thing marking them as military was their M4s and the casual competence with which they handled them.

They’d decided one boat could be passed off as a scouting trip while two might look like an assault, and left the remainder of the group at the Gibson farm. Over Donny Gibson’s strong objection, his father had exercised parental prerogative and assumed the role of local guide. The older Gibson had pointed out, leave periods aside, Donny had been away for several years and was no longer a familiar face to the neighbors along the river. Given the times, a boatload of armed strangers was apt to draw fire first and questions later, but having a neighbor at the helm should at least result in discussion before hostilities commenced.

Luke smiled at the recollection of the discussion. Donny had been inclined to debate the point until his mother had entered the fray, forbidding his participation on pain of unspecified but apparently feared consequences for both Donny and his father. Donny had flushed with embarrassment at the dressing-down, but grudgingly accepted his father’s argument as correct. He stood on the bank as the boat pulled away, his hand raised in a wave of farewell, returned by his three colleagues.

“Gibson don’t look too happy, LT,” Washington said, “but I reckon he’d be a lot more unhappy if he crossed his momma. That is one tough lady.” He looked back, suddenly self-conscious. He saw Vern Gibson smile.

“No offense, sir,” Washington added lamely.

“None taken,” Vern said. “Virginia’s the toughest woman I know. It’s one of the reasons I love her. And she’s had her share of heartache. When Richard lost his arm, it was nip and tuck for a while, and we almost lost him too. Then Donny up and enlisted. She didn’t say nothing and she was proud, but it damn near drove her crazy with worry. Since the power went out and things started gettin’ crazy, she’s been praying for his safe return at least three times a day. We all have, truth be known. So she’s gonna keep him close a while, and he just has to live with it. She’s earned a little peace of mind, and then some.”

The other men just nodded, unsure what to say, the silence broken only by the growl of the outboard.

“How long to Wilmington?” Luke asked at last.

“Hard to say, three or four hours, give or take,” Vern replied. “The main channel is the Black River until we get down to the junction with the Cape Fear River around Roan Island, then the combined stream is designated the Cape Fear. Then we’ll keep going a ways to the junction with the Brunswick, and we’ll take that south and keep Eagle Island between us and Wilmington. The Brunswick rejoins the Cape Fear less than a mile south of the container terminal. My neighbor said the Coast Guard boat was docked at the terminal.”

Luke nodded and turned his attention back to the river. The banks were heavily wooded, but occasionally an opening through the trees revealed an expanse of open field or a farmhouse set well back from the river. At one point they rounded a bend and saw a row of large homes along the shore, set on expansive lots and served by floating docks in the river. Most were deserted, but figures stood exposed on one or two of the docks, their postures telegraphing unease at being caught in the open, even at a distance. As the boat passed them and Vern raised his hand in greeting, Luke saw the people relax. He wondered how many rifle scopes had been pointed at them thus far in their journey and considered for the first time whether foregoing their body armor to look ‘less military’ had been such a good idea.

M/V
Pecos Trader

Sun Lower Anchorage

Neches River

Near Nederland, Texas

Day 17, 8:00 a.m.

Hughes stood at the rail with Kinsey and Dan Gowan, watching Georgia Howell’s deck gang lowering the Coast Guard boat over the side.