Going Home

by A. American

  Frank was way dead; he was missing the top of his head. A round had hit him just above the left eye. I checked Roy real quick. He was dead too. What looked like several rounds had hit his chest and right leg. I grabbed Frank’s rifle; but after a quick check, I had to discard it. A round had blown the gas tube off the barrel. Picking up Roy’s rifle, it looked serviceable, albeit covered in blood. Working frantically, I pulled mags out of their vests as fast as I could. Pulling one mag out of Roy’s vest, the spring came out of the bottom and all the rounds fell out. I dropped that one; in all, I was able to get seven mags from between the two of them.

  This seemed like it took forever. I felt like I was out there for hours, but probably it was not more than a few minutes. Hearing the gunships again, I ran for the tree where my pack was. Daniel was still talking to Norm, who was still catatonic. Running past them, I slung the AK and held all the loose mags in one hand, cradling them against my chest, and grabbed Norm by one shoulder.

  “Move. Here they come! Go, go, go!” I shouted. Daniel had him by the other shoulder. We ran off toward the trees, dragging Norm with us. We threw Norm under a stand of palmettos, and Daniel and I dove for different trees. We were both under large cedar trees with low, sprawling limbs. They provided pretty good concealment. One of the helos made a fast pass, blacked out. It continued out over the lake and then swung around and made another run. This time, it came in parallel to the shore, keeping from flying the same line each time. Whoever was flying that thing obviously had some stick time in a combat zone.

  After the second pass, the other ship came in and began to orbit the boat ramp. The first one came back in real slow this time, its spotlight illuminating the ramp area. The bird came into a hover over the bodies of Frank and Roy. The gunner leaned out with one foot on the skid. From where we were, we clearly saw him. The light reflecting off the lake was more than enough to light him up. I was lying on the ground, under that cedar tree, thinking how easy it would be to shoot that guy off the skid and just how damn crazy you would have to be to do it.

  That last thought barely finished in my mind when the sound of a full auto AK erupted from my left. In disbelief, I looked over to see Norm walking out of the trees, the AK at his shoulder, and spent casings spewing from the hot weapon. I looked back at the helo just in time to see the gunner fall off the skid, his weapon falling into the shallow water at the edge of the lake. The man hung from the safety strap secured to the center of his back by his harness. The pilot broke out of the hover immediately, pouring on the power. I could just see the pilot jerking the collective up to his armpit as he shoved the cyclic forward, looking for speed and altitude.

  Norm kept up a steady stream of fire on the ship. He seemed to have some sort of control over himself. He was firing short bursts. Norm fired on the helo until the second one made a fast run on him. Rounds from the door gunner started hitting the pavement twenty yards from him. It gave the gunner an eternity to walk the rounds in. All he had to do was walk the rounds left or right, allowing the ship to bring the rounds right over Norm. We sat watching this unfold. From our position, it was clear what was going to happen, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it.

  The image of a tracer round ripping through the man will be burned into my mind for eternity. Norm collapsed where he stood; his body simply went limp, and he fell back—his knees bent to the side and his left arm lying across his chest. No Hollywood theatrics, he simply fell where he stood. The helo continued to the south, over the tree line we were in. It came back out of the west, down the boat ramp. As it got closer to the spot, it came on again. With the bright light washing the area, I saw smoke coming from Norm’s chest.

  The pilot came over slow. The gunner opened up on the corpse. He chopped him to pieces and then moved over to the other two and did the same. Obviously they were making a statement to anyone who would find them. The helo orbited the area a couple of times. Daniel and I both lay there with our faces in the duff from the cedar trees. I didn’t even want to look up, like a child in his bed. If I couldn’t see the monster, the monster couldn’t see me. After the bird was gone, we continued to lie there. After all the recent noise, the silence was deafening. I looked over to Daniel, who was looking out at the bodies.

  “What the fuck made them do that?” I asked quietly.

  Daniel dropped his face into the forest floor again, shaking his head. Raising it, he said, “Frank’s and Norm’s sons were on those boats. They were coming over here to get us.” He sighed.

  That certainly explained why they reacted the way they did, but getting yourself killed in a lopsided fight with a couple of helicopters didn’t avenge anyone’s death.

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked him.

  “I guess that I need to go back and tell everyone what happened. I’m sure they saw the light show.” He was shaking his head at the prospect of having to tell so many of the losses they had just suffered.

  I rose to my knees and pulled the pack up. “Sorry, man, they should have just laid low. But I understand why they did it.” I picked up the carbine and stuck it muzzle first down between the main pack and the outside pouch. Daniel slowly got to his feet. He looked as though he had the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. I asked him what frequencies on the radio they monitored, and he gave them to me, and I wrote them down in the book Sarge gave me. Without much of a good-bye, he turned and started off into the woods. It was a long walk around Kerr Lake.

  On the top of my small bag, I had a Maxpedition Rollypolly bag clipped on. I took it off and opened it up and threaded it onto my belt on the left side and packed all the AK mags into it. After putting the little bag around my waist, I pulled the map out and took a look at it. From where I was, I needed to head southeast. After stowing the map, I shouldered the pack and started out.

  • • •

  “Damn, Sarge! That hurt.” Mike stood up rubbing his head.

  “Aw, poor baby, did he hurt his widdle head?” Sarge said, using an overly exaggerated sad face. “Welcome home, boys,” he said with his arms outstretched.

  The little cabin was a plywood and tar-paper shack about twelve by twelve. There were two windows in it and one door. Sarge explained to them how he built it as a place to go when he wanted to hunt and fish or just get away. He hauled all the materials in by himself in his boat and took about six months to build it. There was a little table and a couple of chairs, a “kitchen” with a counter, a propane stove, and a sink. The sink was supplied by a twelve-volt DC pump from a jug underneath the counter and drained into the swamp, feeding the catfish.

  Leaning in a corner were several folding cots. On a shelf on the wall were a couple more lanterns and a cabinet with a mishmash of other camping supplies. Sarge laid out the immediate plan to get the boats unloaded and the gear stowed in the cabin. Then they were to string a camo net Sarge had in a bin outside across the creek they came up to hide the boats. That way, anyone who might venture into the creek wouldn’t see the boats. Hopefully, they wouldn’t even notice them and just turn around and leave.

  This work took a couple of hours. Sarge clucked around his radio gear like a mother hen. All the batteries and panels were stored outside. All the food, electronics, and Pelican cases of God knows what went inside. It was late, and everyone was getting tired. Ted volunteered for first watch. The others went in and set up cots and were soon out.

  Ted set up a folding camp chair on the boardwalk, put on his NVGs, and set his M4 across his lap. With the exception of Sarge’s snoring, it was a quiet night. His thoughts started to wander: What were they going to do? How were they going to get around, or were they stuck in this little cabin? And most importantly, what could they do about what was about to happen?

  • • •

  Thad drove into the outskirts of Brooksville about eleven in the morning. This was not his first choice, driving through town in the daylight, but he was so clo
se to home, so close. Up ahead was the split; Broad Street went to the left and through a small business district. It made a ninety-degree curve to head west into town. Howell Avenue went to the right and ran straight through. Howell was his first thought, but then he remembered it would bring him right past the courthouse and police department. He stayed to the left and went down Broad.

  He was relieved when another car passed him going the opposite direction on Broad Street. The car passed him, and the occupants didn’t even look over. Passing the elementary school, there was a long line of people. There was quite the crowd gathered; they were passing through a gauntlet of tables and people in Red Cross vests and others in fluorescent ones. It looked like they were handing out various kinds of aid supplies.

  In a field between the school and the new courthouse, a little barter town was set up. This was the second one he saw today—looked like they were becoming more common. Making the curve to the west, he saw another line of folks in front of a small building. The sign over the building read Swilley’s Tavern and Package. In this line, unlike the one at the school, all these folks already had something in their hands. The items ranged from live chickens and goats to guns and gas cans. Thad looked at them and just shook his head, wasting valuable supplies for a drink.

  He made a left, putting him back on 41. After a short drive, he came to East Early Street and made a right. This was a shortcut that would take him to South Main, where he made another left. This would take him to the west side of Brooksville but into a more populated area. A spur-of-the-moment decision made him jerk the truck onto the railroad easement. Thad knew Brooksville well, and he suddenly realized he could take the easement and get through town without seeing anyone if he went this way.

  The easement was a good idea; he didn’t encounter a soul and made it through town without incident. He wasn’t going very fast, just steady. Soon he was in an area of forest. Stopping his truck for a minute, he pulled his map out to look at it. The map showed the tracks curving off to the west soon. He needed to get off the track, or he would be heading away from his house. He decided to start looking for a place to get off on the east side of the tracks.

  It didn’t take long to find a place where the trees were thin enough to get off the easement. He had to cross the tracks first though. The old truck complained when he started to climb the rock grade up to the track. It took several attempts, one ending with the front tires buried in the rock, forcing him to rock the truck back and forth to free it. On his final attempt, he hit the grade about twenty miles an hour. Climbing the rock quickly, he tried to get the wheels parallel to the tracks and ease over them.

  That just didn’t work; trying to go slow over the tracks wasn’t going to work. Instead, he turned the wheels into the tracks and gunned the engine. Rocks were slamming into the bumper and flying off into the woods on the west side of the tracks. Finally, the truck lurched over the first track. He kept up the power and got the front wheels over the second track, the rear wheels bouncing over the first and then the second as he started down the grade on the east side of the track.

  Finally on the other side of the tracks, he stopped the truck. Sweat was pouring down his face. It wasn’t that hot out, kinda warm compared to recent days, but he was sweating like a lawyer standing before Saint Peter. He took a drink of water from one of his bottles and wiped his face with a rag he pulled from his coat pocket. Thad climbed out of the truck and stretched his back, flexing his arms out straight, angling them behind his back. After taking a leak beside the front tire, he climbed back into the truck and started looking for a way through the trees.

  He found what he was looking for and was surprised to find a small dirt road, a very pleasant surprise. Following the road out, it dead-ended into another. He took a right and was once again headed south. The dirt road soon turned into a lime rock road that shortly turned into a paved road. Passing a sign, he saw he was on Culbreath Road. He had no idea where it went, but it was going south and, by his estimation, straight toward home.

  Everything was going fine; the area was very rural, hardly any houses and, best of all, no people. A subdivision was coming up on the left. Thad was looking at the houses coming up. He didn’t see anyone and was starting to speed up when his heart stopped. Thad was going about fifty-five. In the center of the road, crossing from the left side, was a little tot on a tricycle. She was right in front of him. Slamming the brake pedal to the floor, he watched in horror as the little bike and the blond pigtails disappeared under the hood with a sickening thunk.

  The sound of metal grinding against the pavement added to the squealing from the tires to create a torturous sound. The truck finally lurched to a stop after what seemed like a hundred miles. He threw the driver’s door open and stepped out onto something soft that gave with his weight. His right foot was still in the truck when he looked down at the plastic doll leg under his boot. It took a moment for it to register what he was looking at and another moment for it to come together in his head what was happening.

  The sound of several feet slapping the pavement brought him out of the cloud of confusion his mind was swimming in. He looked up in time to fall back into the truck as a golf club hit the rear post of the door, warping the club around it. Thad had a hold of the steering wheel with his right hand, holding himself from falling out onto the pavement. In the blink of an eye, he drew the big Bowie knife Morgan had given him. He had hung it on his belt, opposite the Glock, and never thought about it again. Still, he drew it in one fluid motion with his left hand.

  Launching himself out of the cab with his right elbow, he buried the big blade into the man’s middle. He could feel the man’s sternum bump against the top knuckle of his thumb. The man collapsed forward, dropping the club and lying over Thad’s arm with a half groan, half scream mixed with a choke. Standing behind him was another man. This one had an aluminum baseball bat cocked for a swing. Seeing his cohort dropping, he was looking at him and not at Thad. Thad shoved the crumpled man forward, the second stepping back, with the bat still cocked. As the gut-stuck man fell to the ground, Thad drew the Glock. As he leveled it off at the man with the bat, the guy looked at him. His eyes were huge; his mouth fell open, and Thad pulled the trigger.

  The shot sent the batter flailing to the ground. That was when Thad saw the third man. He was unarmed and had been behind the second. His hands were half raised, his eyes massive, and his mouth open in a silent scream. Thad looked at him; he didn’t look like someone you would need to be worried about. He was wearing Dockers and loafers with tassels. Tassels, for God’s sake! The guy had pissed his pants and was shaking like a cat shitting razor blades.

  Thad’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of sick bastard does something like that?” he screamed, pointing to the doll leg lying under the driver’s door. The man couldn’t even try to speak; he just stood there shaking. Thad’s fury was growing. “Well! Who’s idea was this sick stunt?”

  With his hands still raised, the man folded a finger over and pointed to golf club guy. Thad looked over at him, the Glock still trained on the piss stain. “You figured you’d just take my truck, huh?” He nodded his head. “Once you start down this path, robbin’ folks, you can’t come back. But I’m gonna give you a chance. If you die, it’s your fault.” The faintest look of relief washed over the guy’s face. Thad lowered the pistol and shot him in the upper thigh. The piss stain let out a scream, grabbed his leg, and fell over.

  Thad didn’t even look at him. Walking back to the truck, he bent over at the doubled-up form by the door and used one of his village stomping boots to roll the body over. Without much thought about it, he reached down and grabbed the handle of the knife and quickly pulled it out. He took a moment to wipe most of the blood off on the button-down shirt the corpse wore. He sheathed the knife and climbed back into the truck and started it up. He backed the truck until the tricycle came out from under it. The doll was in pieces, and the bike was a hunk of scrap
metal. Pulling around the bike, he took one last look out the window at the three bodies on the road. All three were still there. The one that still had a chance had done nothing to help himself yet. He still lay there clutching the leg. “Your choice,” Thad said as he headed south.

  • • •

  Checking my watch, it was only about eight thirty. Early enough that I should be able to put some miles behind me tonight. Looking at the map earlier, it looked like I had a little less than thirty miles to go, and all of it in the forest. Only a few paved roads passed through the forest. The two major ones were Highway 40, which ran east and west, and Highway 19, which ran north and south. I should only have to cross each of them once, as my plan would take me cross-country. Fishing into the little bag, I pulled out the Silva compass and put the cord around my neck. If I did this right, I should be able to hit the Juniper Run and get some good, clean water. By the time I got there, I’d need it.

  The terrain between Lake Kerr and Juniper was upland pine forest. Much of it was managed forest and logged out when the timber was mature. What this process left behind was a patchwork of clear-cuts with brush, knee high to eight feet. Then there was a second growth with taller trees and underbrush and the older growth. I passed through these in the dark in random orders, always looking for lines of weakness through the underbrush. The underbrush consisted of palmettos, scrub oaks, small cedars, myrtles, and various bushes. At times, it could be impenetrable, and you really had to fight your way through.

  In one of the thicker areas, I stopped for a water break and dropped the pack. I sat on the stub of a burned-out pine stump and took a long drink from one of the steel bottles. It was so cool and so good that I almost drank the entire thing. Sitting there, I was thinking of how I could speed this up a bit, and then I remembered the pruning shears in my pack. I groped around in the pack till I found them. Finishing off the water, I refilled it from the Platypus pouch and readied the pack. Shouldering the bag, I started back out, cutting some of the more troublesome limbs and branches in places to get by.