by A. American
They sat there drinking shine from pint mason jars, another one of their “cash money” sources. The standard procedure was to sit in the boats, getting slowly pickled, until they heard a boat coming; then Dale and his boy would take their boat out into the center of the river to stop whoever was coming, leaving Phil to cover them. Both of the boats had Q-Beams, and they used these to blind and intimidate the other boats.
Sarge sat on a cooler in front of the center console of his boat; Mike was driving. They all had on full battle rattle, body armor, sidearms, and enough mags for the M4s to break contact with almost any size force. Not to mention the FN Minimi SPW they captured from the DHS goons. The appearance of this particular weapon really bothered all of them. What in the hell were those guys doing with something like that? Basically a shortened M249 with a telescoping stock, Sarge fell in love immediately. Add in the eight hundred rounds those morons packed in and the guys almost saw Sarge’s O face.
Sarge twisted the top on one of the Sam Adams and turned it up, taking a long pull on the bottle.
“Hey, give me one of those,” Mike yelled above the outboard.
Sarge cocked his head to one side and yelled back, “You’re driving, dickhead; no.” Then he turned the bottle up, draining it. Tossing the bottle over his shoulder, Mike had to knock it out of the air to keep from getting hit by it. He saw Sarge’s shoulders bouncing up and down and knew he was laughing.
“Mean ole prick,” he said out loud.
Sarge cocked his head to one side. “What?”
“Nothing.” Mike shook his head. How in the hell did he hear that? “How far we going?”
“Just drive, Junior. And don’t start the ‘are we there yet’ shit.” Sarge opened himself another beer. Mike just shook his head.
They continued down the river—the three boats in single file, blacked out, no running lights. Twenty-five miles was a long way on the water, and they soon settled down for the ride. Since all the guys had NVGs, they didn’t need to use any lights, but no one else on the river had them. They picked up on the first boat they encountered long before they got to it. Their spotlight shining around alerted the guys to their location.
As they approached a bend, Mike slowed the boat. The other two came up on either side of them. “We’ll go around the bend. If it’s clear, I’ll shine my laser up in the air. If it ain’t, you’ll know,” Sarge said. The guys all nodded, and the lead boat pulled away. Sarge stood up and stepped to the bow of the boat, the SPW at the ready.
As they came around the corner, they spotted the boat immediately but were not detected by it. Mike was cruising rather slowly up the river; it looked like the other boat was engaged in froggin’ or looking for gators. Sarge watched the boat for a minute through the NVG; a small family was on the boat—man, woman, and a child. The cough of a small voice drifted across the river.
“I don’t think they’re anything to be worried about,” Mike said.
“Probably not, but let’s say hi,” Sarge replied. Flipping the NVG up and putting a hand to his mouth, he called out, “Hello, the boat!” The spotlight swung around, shining across the river and settling on their boat. Sarge waved at the boat as Mike steered toward it. The other boat turned out toward the river, stopping rather far away. Mike reached down and hit the switch for the IR laser on his M4; it was tucked into a handrail on the side of the console, muzzle up.
As Mike motored closer to the other boat, a man’s voice called out, “That’s far enough.” He still had the spotlight on, pointing it into the river, and they clearly saw him pick up his shotgun. The woman and child were sitting on the bow of the boat.
Sarge raised his hands. “We don’t mean no harm there, friend. Just wanted to see how things were on the river.”
With Sarge’s hands in plain view. The man came a little closer. “Just out trying to scrounge some dinner,” he offered.
“Why so late or early?—depending on how you look at it,” Sarge asked.
“I don’t like to come out during the day, wanted to get the boy out of the house for a bit. Plus he’s a good frogger,” he said, nodding and smiling at the little boy, whose face lit up with his father’s praise.
“Any trouble out here?” Sarge asked.
“No, not really. But then we stay close to home,” the man replied.
“Probably a good idea,” Sarge said.
The boats were drifting closer, and the guy seemed to relax a bit. When he heard the other boats coming, he stiffened and looked at Sarge with fright on his face and then at his family. Sarge raised his hands again. “Don’t worry; they’re with us.” The little boy coughed a raspy cough.
“Is the little man sick?” Sarge asked.
“It’s just a little cold,” the woman answered.
The other two boats came alongside Sarge’s boat. “Hey, Doc, you got anything to give to a little frogger with a cough?”
“I think I can find him something,” Ronnie answered and started to dig around his bag. Putting the boat in gear, he eased up to the other boat. The man caught the gunwale and held onto it. Ronnie handed over some cough drops and a small bottle of Vick’s. “Give him one of these and rub this on his chest at night to help break that stuff up,” Ronnie said, handing them to the woman. She took them.
“Thank you so much. We don’t have anything for him,” she said.
“You guys in the army?” the man asked.
“Not anymore,” Sarge answered. “And if you see any of them, I suggest you stay away. Ronnie, give ’em a case of MREs.” Ronnie handed the case over to the man.
“Hey, thanks a lot. We sure can use this. Fish is getting old,” he said, smiling to his wife, who smiled back.
“You guys be safe,” Sarge said with a nod.
“You too. Thanks a lot,” the man said with a wave.
Sarge nodded to Mike, who put the boat in gear, dropped his NVGs, and headed down the river. The other boats fell in line. Sarge plopped back down on the cooler. Cruising down the river, they encountered a couple more boats, using the same procedure to approach them. All the folks were in roughly the same situation, hungry and afraid. Sarge doled out a little more charity, and Ronnie applied a clean dressing to the arm of a guy who was bit by the four-foot gator he had wrestled into his boat. He needed antibiotics, but they had precious few of them and didn’t offer any.
Rounding another bend in the river, they were met by the twin beams of spotlights from either side of the river. The lights instantly shut the NVGs down, and the guys had to flip them up. Thinking it was an ambush, all the three boats were pushed to full throttle. A shot from the boat that moved to the center of the river was answered by a long burst from the SPW in Sarge’s hands. Ronnie and Ted were both firing at it with one hand and steering with the other. Ted was firing at the boat on the side of the river.
The spotlight in the center of the river fell into the water. The guys let up as they came abreast of the boat, since there was no return fire. The spotlight off to the side was shining straight up. Ted broke off and went toward it. Coming up to the pontoon boat, he saw a man lying on the deck in a fetal position. “Show me your fuckin’ hands!” Ted screamed. The man rolled onto his back with hands out; he had pissed his pants and looked terrified.
As Sarge’s boat approached the other one, he and Mike were both at the ready. The white fiberglass interior of the boat was full of blood; it was splattered all over it. A body lay on its side on the deck. Another figure was lying on the opposite side, with his hands over his head. “Show me your hands, asshole, or I’ll fuckin’ smoke your ass!” Sarge yelled out. A boy about sixteen rolled over. Blood was splattered across his face.
• • •
Thad slowed the truck to a stop; there was still a hundred yards between them. An asphalt driveway ran down the right-of-way to where he brought the truck to a stop. The four men were spread out across his path
. There was plenty of room to go through them but not without taking fire. Thad put the truck in park and stepped out. The four men spread out on the road just stood there.
“What’da ya want!” Thad called out.
The one leaning on the hood of the old Ford answered, “Yo truck.”
That just pissed him off. They already had a car that ran, and now they wanted his. This was what things had come to, the iron rule. Those with the iron and the will to use it, make the rules. Checking them out, Thad saw that one of them had what looked like an AK. The other three didn’t appear to have any long guns. Thad started to develop a plan. “I’m comin’ over,” he called out to the supposed leader of this little tribe.
“You bes’ be real slow about it,” came the reply.
Thad put the truck in gear and started to ease forward. He was still trying to put his plan together; it really all depended on where the men were when he stopped. As he got closer, they started to gather around the car. As they did, Thad could now tell that none of them had a long gun. He didn’t even see a handgun on any of them. If they had them, they were under their coats. That would certainly help. Thad slipped the shotty into his lap, holding it with his right hand, the muzzle pointed at the door. As he got closer, the one that had spoken stepped toward the truck. “That’s right, keep coming,” Thad muttered. He was just barely creeping along.
The man coming forward was proud of himself. He was talking it up to the guys with him. Thad couldn’t hear what he was saying, but they appeared to be eating it up. They were all laughing and really carrying on, excited about getting another ride for their group. The other three fell in behind the one with the AK. As Thad brought the truck to a stop about ten feet from them, the one with the AK started to walk up to the window by himself. As he stepped up, he had a huge grin on his face, full of himself.
“Good fa you. Now get yo ass out of my truck,” the man said.
The other three were still eating it up. “Yeah, get yo ass outta our truck.”
Thad raised the shotty a bit; as the man stepped forward, Thad pulled the trigger on the shotgun. The blast caught him high in the chest, knocking him over backward. The other three dove for the ground. Thad jumped out of the truck, drawing the Glock as he went, before the others could react. One of the three rolled onto his back and went to draw a pistol from his waistband. Thad planted one of his size thirteen boots on the kid’s neck; he had the shotty pointed at the second one of them and the Glock at the third.
“I’ll be keeping my truck. What the hell makes you damn people think you can just take what you want from others?” Thad said; he was incredulous and wanted to kill them all. “You two, on your belly. Put your hands out to your side. If you try anything, I’ll kill you.”
The other two were looking up at the big man. The fear on their faces was real. It was something they weren’t used to; they were used to being the ones feared, not the ones in fear. They had run their game around Dunnellon with little opposition. They knew who they could go after and who to stay away from; this was their first mistake, and it was huge.
“Come on, man, all we wanted was the truck. We wasn’t goin’ to do anythin’ to ya,” the one with the shotty trained on him said.
“It’s my truck!” Thad screamed at them. “See what you caused here!” He nodded to the nearly decapitated body lying beside him. The sound of the man under his boot gagging got his attention, and he looked down. The madder he got, the more pressure he had unintentionally applied to the man’s neck. He had both his hands wrapped around Thad’s ankle. “You still think you a badass now?”
The kid’s eyes were huge, and he was gasping for breath. “I told you two to roll over. Do it now!” Thad shouted. The two immediately rolled over. One of them started to blubber about not wanting to be killed. With the other two on their bellies, Thad looked down at the one under his boot. “I’m gonna take my foot off your neck. When I do, you better roll over. Try anything, and I’ll unload this buck in your face, understand?” Thad lowered the shotgun so it was pointed at his nose. The kid tried to nod, Thad lifted his boot, and he rolled over.
Thad tucked the Glock into his belt and knelt beside him, watching the other two as he did. Reaching under the kid, he pulled the pistol out of his pants. Lowering his head, he whispered into the kid’s ear, “You so much as sneeze, and you’re a dead man.” Thad quickly searched the other two, finding one more pistol. He took the two pistols and threw them into the cab of the truck and picked up the rifle, which turned out to be an SKS with a thirty-round mag. Keeping an eye on the men on the ground, he pulled a hank of 550 cord from his pack and went about tying the hands of each of them.
“What’re you gonna do to us?” one of them whined.
“You worried about yourself; ain’t none of you so much as looked at your buddy over here.” Thad pointed to the body. “All you worried about is yourself. You’re pathetic.”
Thad walked over to the car to see what they had in it. Lying in the front seat, he found two boxes of ammo for the SKS. The floor was littered with beer cans and liquor bottles. Opening the trunk, he found more liquor; he was hoping for food. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he turned the key on to check the gas level, quarter of a tank. Oh well, if it had more gas, he was thinking of taking it. The old truck was starting to suffer a bit. He pulled the keys from the ignition and put them in his pocket. Taking the ammo and a bottle of vodka from the trunk, he went back to the truck and tossed those into the cab and turned to the three men tied up on the ground.
Then he had a second thought and returned to the trunk of the car and pulled out the remainder of the case of vodka. Thad opened all but one of the bottles and poured them in the car, making sure to coat the seats and floorboards front and back. Taking the last bottle out of the case, he reached into the backseat and pulled out a T-shirt, and, ripping a piece off, he soaked it in vodka and stuffed it into the neck of the bottle. Then he took a lighter from his pocket and lit the rag. Looking back at the three men on the ground, he flung the bottle at the dash with all his might; it exploded into flames, and the fire immediately engulfed the entire car.
“Let’s see how bad y’all are now,” Thad said as he climbed into the truck and started it.
“You just gonna leave us here! Tied up!” one of them shouted.
“What was your plan for me?” Thad asked as he put the truck in gear and drove away.
Knowing that 41 should be off to the east of him, Thad turned the truck out onto the paved road the bandits had come down. He was right and hit 41 in less than half a mile, where he made a right and headed south. There would be other little towns on his path home; he just hoped they would be easier to get through. Looking down at the dash, Thad noticed that his little run through Dunnellon had cost him some gas. He had less than half a tank now. Trying to find gas was now his primary concern. Having to walk the rest of the way home just wasn’t an option he wanted to think about.
After about fifteen minutes on the road, he came into the small town of Hernando. This was where 200 and 41 merged, with 200 coming in from the left. There was a gas station that could be entered from either of the two roads. Thad let the truck coast into the station. He had been driving with the headlights on, since the area he was driving through was virtually uninhabited. Swinging into the station, the headlights illuminated a camp of sorts. A number of men were gathered around a burn barrel under the canopy for the fuel pumps. They stood up, reaching for rifles as they did. Knowing he was taking a chance, Thad wanted to see if he could get some fuel.
The men were all on their feet. There were five of them, looking at the truck. Thad stepped out with his hands where they could see them and called, “Y’all got any gas I could trade for?”
“Yeah, we got gas. What’cha tradin’?” came the reply.
“I got a few things; depends on how much I can get,” Thad said.
“Pull the truck up
here to this pump.” One of them pointed to a pump.
Thad hopped back into the truck and pulled up to the pump. Most of the men went back to the barrel, keeping an eye on him and the truck. One of them walked around to Thad as he got out. “What’cha got fer trade?” Thad reached into the cab and picked up the bottle of Vodka off the seat.
“I got this.” He held it out. The man’s face lit up, and he let out a holler, drawing the attention of the others.
“That’ll do jus’ fine,” he said. “Crank that generator!” he called out. A moment later, the hum of a generator could be heard from the back of the station. The man stuck the bottle of vodka in his coat pocket and picked up the pump handle. He opened the cap on the gas tank on the truck and stuck the nozzle in. With the gas flowing, the two of them started to chat about things a bit.
“Where you comin’ from?” the man asked.
“I was up near Tallahassee when it happened. I’m trying to get over toward Tampa,” Thad answered. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his field coat, the Glock tightly gripped in his right hand.
“That’s a hell of a trip. How was it? Any trouble?” the man asked.
“Yeah, it ain’t been easy. There’s been some crazy damn people. How about ’round here. You guys had any trouble?” Thad asked.
“Thur’s been some. Couple of times, some have tried to hit this place. We keep men here around the clock, only store in town. Plus they’s a kerosene pump here, and lots of folks need that right now. We offer protection, and the owner pays us with fuel and a little food, but that’s starting to run out now.” The handle on the pump shut off; the truck was full.
“Yeah, I’ve seen a few people who was working together, an’ I’ve seen some straight-up craziness too. Seems a lot of folks think they are owed whatever they need or just want and just try taking it from folks,” Thad said.