Going Home

by A. American

  The one that had been there the longest was unrecognizable. She had been really worked over by the buzzards. The next one was in a little better shape, but I didn’t recognize her. The last one, with the blonde hair, looked familiar. Her lips were swollen, and the eyes were gone, but she looked familiar. There were marks around the wrists and ankles where I assume she had been bound and a rope was around her neck that I assume was used to kill her. Beer cans were everywhere and the remnants of fires, fires that had been burning while the bodies were here. Rags of clothes were scattered around and a single shoe. This place had a horrible feel to it, not like it used to when all you were looking for was some mud to sling.

  This was truly disturbing; this close to home, and someone was killing and dumping girls in the woods. God only knows what was done to them before they found their way here. My desire to get home just got more intense. Turning my back to them, I started to walk out of the area. The trees on the southeast side of the pond were full of buzzards, just waiting for the sun to come up so they could go back to the buffet.

  With the sun slowly coming up, the goggles were no longer needed, so I took them off and stopped for a minute to stow them in the pack. Digging in the outside pouch of the pack, I found an MRE pound cake and unwrapped it, shouldered the pack, and ate it while I walked. I couldn’t shake the image of those bodies from my mind as I walked. I kept seeing one of my girls lying there, and that filled me with terror.

  To get to the house, I would be coming into a more populated area. Not wanting to get shot by some dude taking a piss off his back porch in the early morning, I made sure to keep inside the tree line, working my way southeast. Eventually I would hit Highway 19, and I decided to walk the last piece on the road in the daylight. I was close to home and would hopefully know some of the people if I came across any.

  I hit the road in Pittman, just up from the house. Taking a minute to check the road both ways, I didn’t see anyone, so I stepped out and started to walk down the shoulder of the road. It felt weird underfoot, the pavement, after walking through the scrub for so long. It was surreal to step out of the woods into Pittman. I had driven this road thousands of times and knew it well. Now I was walking down the road instead of driving, but I could actually see my road up ahead on the left. I never encountered anyone, not a soul, never even saw anything that would indicate anyone was around.

  Approaching my road, my gut was in my throat. I was excited and scared at the same time. Stepping off the paved road onto our dirt road, I immediately saw the roadblock. At the sight of me stepping onto the road, the two men standing around the burn barrel immediately left its warmth and shouldered their rifles. The barricade was made from pine logs and was substantial; a truck would have a hell of a time getting through it. I let the AK drop and raised my hands as I approached. I saw them and recognized them both. I just hoped they recognized me.

  “Morgan?”

  “Yeah, Lance, it’s me.”

  “Holy shit, man, you actually made it. We were told to watch out for you, but it’s been so long since anyone heard from you, we got worried,” Lance replied.

  I approached the barricade. Lance stuck out his hand, and I took it. He had a big smile on his face. He needed a shave, but he looked good. “Welcome home, man; welcome home.”

  • • •

  Sarge sat on the deck, sipping a cup of coffee while the boys ate. He had been out for a while, but he would still take care of his boys first. And that was just how he thought of them, his boys. Inside he heard them talking, heard the boots scuffing the floor, while outside it was quiet, and he could think. Now that they were here, he wasn’t sure what in the hell to do exactly. They bugged out because of the surveillance team that was inserted in his house. They had to bail from that, no choice. But now what?

  The guys finished eating, and Doc came out and relieved Sarge on the porch. He went back inside and sat down to a plate of his own. Mike and Ted went about cleaning up the dinner dishes. Sarge sat down at the table and put a headset on to listen to the radios. He was making a list on a notepad while he ate and listened. There were some things he wanted to get from the hardware store in Suwannee. It was while he was writing down how many two-by-fours he wanted to get that he found a transmission on the radio.

  It was a recorded loop telling everyone there would be a radio address by the secretary of Homeland Security. The address would lay out the rules of martial law that the country was now under. Sarge stuffed another bite of patty into his mouth with a grunt. The recording said the broadcast would be at eighteen hundred hours today, so they had some time before it to get some stuff done. Sarge sat there and flipped through the frequencies a little longer; he was thinking of Morgan and Thad. They had not been in communication since the last time they were interrupted while talking. He wondered if they ever made it home; he knew deep down inside they would, but he sure would like some confirmation.

  With breakfast out of the way, Sarge decided it was time to get on with the day. He had made his list of what he wanted to get from the hardware store, so he went and opened one of the Pelican cases and took out a few gold and silver one-ounce rounds. He fully intended to pay for what he wanted.

  “Hey, you guys come outside,” Sarge said as he went out the door.

  Outside, Doc was leaning against a corner of the cabin. Sarge laid out his plan to run down to the gulf and to visit the little town of Suwannee. The hardware store there was owned by an old man named Don and was where Sarge had bought all the material for his cabin. He wanted to get on the river while it was early so they could get back. They were taking two boats; one of them would have to stay behind to provide security for the cabin.

  “You think it’s a good idea to travel in the daylight, Sarge?” Ted asked.

  “It’s a risk, but I want Don at the hardware store to see me coming and not get all jumpy because we come up in the dark. Plus it will give us a chance to take a look around,” Sarge answered. “So who’s staying here?”

  “Aw, come on, paw, we all wanna go ta town,” Mike said in a thick hick voice.

  “Just for that, you’re staying here, dipshit.”

  Mike and the others just laughed, and Sarge went back inside to get his gear. Ted and Doc started to prep the boats for the trip downriver. Mike went out behind the cabin and came back with a fishing pole from the little storage locker. He was going to get a little fishing in while they were gone.

  Sarge came out with the SPW and put it in the bow of his boat, along with his carbine and a small cooler. “Mike, keep the door open. The radio is set on the forty-meter band. We’ll be on there in case anything happens.”

  “Roger that, Sarge. You guys be careful,” he replied.

  Doc stepped into Sarge’s boat, and Ted got in one of the others. It took a few minutes of maneuvering to get them headed out toward the main river, but they finally managed with only a moderate amount of cussing from Sarge. The two boats eased up the little creek and stopped just short of the main channel. They sat there for a minute, checking out the river; not seeing anything, they moved out into the main river with Sarge in the lead, sitting on the cooler in front of his console. He held the SPW by the barrel with the butt on the deck. Doc and Ted opened the throttles, and the boats zipped down the river.

  Suwannee was about ten miles downriver from Turkey Creek; the ride would take about fifteen minutes. The morning was clear and only slightly cool. The fog rising off the river was light, and they were able to push the boats. This early morning, they passed a couple of boats out on the water. No one appeared to be any sort of threat; they mostly just waved a hand or a rod tip as they passed by. From the looks of things, it was just normal folks out trying to catch something to stink up a skillet.

  The two boats made it to town without incident. As they got closer, the boat traffic picked up considerably. Almost all of Suwannee was accessible from the water; it was a series of natur
al and man-made canals. The hardware store, more of a combination of hardware and marine hardware, was located just off the main channel of the river. Coming out of the main channel, Sarge was surprised to see so much activity. A number of boats were in the canals. He guided Doc with hand signals to the dock for the hardware store and reached out and caught a cleat and tied the boat off and then stepped out onto the dock. A few people were out there, and they drew some strange looks, the three of them all in MultiCam BDUs with weapons hanging off them. The SPW lying on the deck of his boat was a sure source of curious looks.

  Sarge found old Don behind the counter in his store. Don was the kind of old man that looked like he was born onto the stool he always sat on behind the old cypress counter. The store had been there for as long as anyone could remember—that included Don on his stool. He was an old cracker that didn’t suffer fools well. He and Sarge got on like two peas in a pod. Sarge went in with the M4 slung across his chest to find Don behind the counter. He had his arms folded across his chest and the stub of an ever-present Backwoods cigar in his mouth. Over the course of the day, that cigar would slowly disappear, but it was never lit.

  “Ha, the fucking marines are here!” Don called out as Sarge and Ted walked into the old store.

  “Typical civilian, can’t tell the difference between a real soldier and fucking jarhead,” Sarge snapped back. He walked up to the counter and put a boot on the old brass rail and an elbow on the counter. “How ya doin’, Don?”

  “Fair ta middlin’. How ’bout you, Linus?” Don replied.

  “Just another day in pair of dice,” Sarge answered.

  “Huh, if this is yer idea of paradise, I’d hate to see yer idea of bad time,” Don said.

  “Clean the hair outta your ears, old man. I said pair of dice. The way things are going it’s a crap shoot.”

  Don let out a laugh with that one. “Pretty good. What kin I do for ya?”

  Sarge laid his list on the counter, sliding it over to him. Don took the glasses from his head where they perpetually resided and put them on the end of his nose. Holding the note out at arm’s length, he looked it over. “Well, I got all that. But what’er ya gonna pay with?”

  Sarge reached into his blouse pocket and pulled out a half dozen silver rounds and dropped them on the counter. Don reached over and took one, inspecting it closely by looking over the top of the glasses. He looked past the coin to Sarge. “This’ll cover it. You need some help loadin’ it?” Don nodded to the two young guys that were sitting on a wire reel in the open door of the warehouse. They were typical Florida redneck kids, Wrangler jeans, T-shirts, and Real Tree camo hats. Ted was standing not far from them with his carbine across his chest; Doc was out on the dock by the boats.

  “Sure, can they round it up and carry it out there, and we’ll sort it out between the boats?” Sarge answered.

  “Billy!” Don called out, waving him over. “You an’ Tommy get all this out there on the dock an’ help the A-Team here load it up.”

  The boy took the slip of paper from Don and looked at it. “Sure thing, Mr. Don.” With that, the two boys disappeared into the bowels of the warehouse to start pulling the lumber.

  “You seen anything of the government, Don?” Sarge asked, turning to look out the big open door to the river.

  “We’ve seen some, DHS guys mostly. They come in town and requisition a lot of stuff. They aren’t doing nuthin’ to help anyone, so far as I’ve seen,” Don said with a hint of disdain in his voice.

  “Seen any trouble around here?”

  Don rocked back on his stool. “Shit, ever’one here know ever’one else, so ain’t no one gonna try’n’ steal anything. How ’bout you, any trouble up yer way?”

  “We’ve seen a little. Had to leave the house when some unwanted visitors showed up. Had a run-in on the river with some would-be pirates. But that’s it,” Sarge answered.

  “Must’a been some bad hombres to run you an’ these boys off’n yer place,” Don said with a raised eyebrow.

  “They thought they were, but we knew they’d have friends coming to look for them, so we skedaddled,” Sarge said.

  Billy and Tommy came out of the warehouse pulling a lumber cart with them headed toward the big door. As they went out, Ted started telling them where to put the stuff in the boats. Sarge stayed inside chatting with Don, and Doc kept his position as lookout. The boats were almost loaded when Ted and Doc both came inside the doors. “Sarge, we got some company,” Doc said as they stepped in behind the big sliding door.

  “Who is it?” Sarge asked.

  “Light boat, three men, long guns and uniforms,” Ted answered.

  Sarge stood up so he could look out at the dock. The boat was coming up in front of theirs and tying off to the dock. He quickly gave orders for Doc to go upstairs to the loft and find a place to cover the door. Ted went back into the warehouse and took up a position behind a pallet of Quikrete. Sarge was trying to figure out where to go when Don called to him.

  “In here, Linus,” Don called and jutted a thumb toward a little office door behind the counter. Sarge started to go behind the counter and stopped. He looked up at Doc. “Where’s that fuckin’ Minimi?”

  “In the boat, Sarge,” he answered, looking out the big door. He could already see the boots of the first guy approaching the door.

  “Shit!” Sarge said through gritted teeth as he went into the office door and quickly closed it.

  Billy and Tommy were out on the dock going about their business as the three DHS agents approached. When they first approached, Billy stepped onto the boat and laid a sheet of plywood over the SPW. As the agents approached, one of them stopped to look into the boat. He didn’t see the weapon, but he saw the radio mounted to the console. He looked at one of the other agents and nodded to it; the other saw it and gave a nod in return. The two of them walked through the big door to find Don on his stool.

  “Ya here to steal some more from me?” Don said by way of greeting to them as they came in.

  The agent casually walked up to the counter and laid his M4 on it. “Whose boats out there?”

  “Just some boys that came in for some supplies,” Don replied.

  While Don and the agent were talking, a man outside on the dock came up to the agent standing in the door and started to talk to him. Doc saw the man pointing to the boats and gesturing through the big door. It was obvious what was going on to him—some sorry bastard trying to garner favor with the DHS thugs at their expense. The agent spoke with the man for a minute before coming inside. He went up to the counter where the first agent and Don were still engaged in a lively back-and-forth. The two of them stepped off to the side for a moment and spoke and then the agent returned to talk to Don.

  The agent from the door caught the attention of the other and jerked his head in a “follow me” kind of motion. They started to move out toward the warehouse. The first agent walked back up to the counter and looked at Don. “Where are they? They have an illegal radio in that boat and, from what we were told, weapons. You know damn well all weapons were to be turned in.”

  “How in the hell are people supposed to know that? There ain’t no fuckin’ TV or radio,” Don spat back at the agent. “You assholes ain’t helping anyone.”

  “We put a radio in town. I think you’re well aware of that. Now I’m not here for a damn debate. Where are they?” the agent asked again, this time with an edge to his voice.

  “I told you I don’t know. They went into town, I guess. They dropped off a list of what they wanted and left.” Don rocked back on his stool and folded his arms across his chest.

  The agent looked down on the counter and picked up one of the silver rounds. “An’ they paid in sterling? That doesn’t strike you as a little odd? Not to mention you can’t have this either. I’ll be confiscating these.” The agent picked up the other coins and dropped them into his pocket. />
  Don launched himself off his stool. “Wait a damn minute! You ain’t taken that; that’s mine!”

  The agent hit Don in the chest with an open palm, knocking him down. He stepped around the counter and drew his sidearm; he stepped over Don, who was sprawled on the floor. Pointing the weapon at his face, he said, “I can do whatever the fuck I want. I’ll kill your stupid ass if I’m so inclined. You are at the very least guilty of harboring armed fugitives, and for that alone, I could kill you!”

  Don raised his hands over his face, trying to shield it from the blast he just knew was coming. The agent continued, “And there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it!”

  Sarge was in the little office listening to the exchange just outside the door. He was getting pissed; the old man hadn’t done anything wrong, and he felt responsible for the knuckle dragger that was fucking with him.

  “For the last time, where are they!” the agent shouted as he kicked Don in the leg.

  From behind the door of the office came a voice, “In here.” The agent looked up quickly and then looked back at the other two who were already moving toward the little room. He stepped over Don toward the office, positioning himself in front of the door. Inside Sarge listened to the boots scuffing on the floor. When he was confident the agent was in front of the door, he took a step back and grabbed a file cabinet to brace himself. The agent reached for the knob with his free hand just as Sarge kicked the door out. The door slammed into his hand, instantly breaking his index finger and thumb; the force of the blow knocked him onto his ass.

  Before the other two could react, Doc fired one round that hit one agent in his right ear. He was dead before he hit the ground. Ted took out the second one with a double tap to the back of his head. He too was dead before he hit the ground. Sarge was out and on top of the asshole that was in front of the door. The agent was lying on his back, holding his hand; his pistol was on the ground beside him.