by A. American
Chapter 11
After talking to Sarge, Thad had a lot of work to do. He and Anita loaded almost all the food into the old Scout and drove out into the woods behind the old home place. He had looked around until he found an old drum that was empty. Old man Jackson apparently didn’t believe in recycling old motor oil and had a couple hundred gallons of the stuff in drums around the property. In a junk pile, he found a top for the barrel but never did find a locking ring. Picking out a spot, Thad laid a drop cloth on the ground and started to dig, laying the spoil on the cloth. It took him about an hour, but he got the hole dug. Little Tony wanted to help, but Thad was in a hurry.
Once the hole was big enough, he set the drum in a couple of times to ensure it fit. They filled the drum up almost two-thirds of the way with cans and jars, making sure to leave some cans for his personal pack. Thad filled the rest of the space with clothes, some water, a little ammunition and other assorted stuff. Once the drum was full, Thad caulked the lid with silicone and then backfilled the hole. When he was done, he still had a sizable pile of dirt on the drop cloth. It was an effort, but with Anita and even Little Tony pushing, he was able to tie the corners together and get the bundle into the back of the International.
Back at the house, he collected all their guns and went to work on hiding them. The house’s interior was done in paneling, so using some tools from the shop Thad pulled out the brads, being very careful not to damage the panels. He chose spots where less than a full sheet was used, near corners or doorways, and removed these smaller sections. In the little piece between the front door and the wall that was behind the door when it was open, Thad put the SKS and one pistol. Then he mounted a hook he had found in the shop to the panel with a nut and bolt, putting a washer on the inside behind the nut. Using some of the brads that weren’t bent, he put just enough in around the edge to make the panel snug, having to add three to the top to keep it from bowing. Even with those he knew he could pull the panel out with one hand if he needed to.
He kept his old shotgun and his Glock out, Anita had her Glock as well, just in case. Then they went about preparing bug-out bags in case they couldn’t get to the trucks. Anita had a pack she used for school, and Little Tony had a decent pack. The Transformers graphics and bright colors would have to go, though. Thad told himself to look for some spray paint for it, and he knew Tony would not be happy about that.
Thad made up the packs with the basics. Little Tony came up to Thad with a couple of his favorite Transformers in his hand. These, he told his father, were required. Thad took the toys from the boy and made room in his little pack for them. As he was doing so, he thought about the transition in his son. Here he was, making a pack for him in case they had to run for it, and the little boy carried over some toys to add to it, as if they were packing to go to Anita’s sister’s for the weekend.
They didn’t have enough sleeping bags, but Mr. Jackson had several nice wool blankets. Thad took these and rolled them up, then put them inside garbage bags and tied them to the bottom of the packs. Thad had a sleeping bag, but it was for Tony; he and Anita would use the blankets. Thad had his poncho, but they didn’t have any other ground cloth, so he went out to the old man’s shop to see what he could find. There was a nice old canvas tarp, probably ten by ten, but it was so heavy that he had to dismiss it. Digging through the shelves he finally found something that would work: half a roll of thick black plastic.
Thad took the plastic and cut four pieces to six-by-eight and folded and compressed them as best he could. He figured these would work well for ground cloths and, should they need it, overhead shelter. He also distributed the few MREs he had left from his trip home between Tony and Anita’s pack. In his own he put as much canned food as he felt he could reasonably carry. In addition to the food, clothes and shelter items he packed, Thad also had his knife and Leatherman tool. He strapped a small camp axe to his pack and a bow saw to Anita’s. He found his first aid kit and stuck that in his pack.
Thad set the packs by the door and stepped back to look at them. Then it hit him: fire. He had a lighter and the magnesium block he had gotten from Sarge, but that was it. Going back into the kitchen, he found a box of strike-anywhere matches and filled a pill bottle from the medicine cabinet with those. Looking through the kitchen drawers, he found two more Bic lighters and put one each into Tony and Anita’s packs. Little Tony thought it was cool he got to carry a lighter, and Thad told him it wasn’t a toy and he wasn’t to use it except in an emergency. Little Tony nodded.
He had done all he could; now all they could do was wait. Anita prepared dinner for them: a canned ham and some home-canned green beans and mashed potatoes. They sat down to dinner at the dining table, an oil lamp lighting the room. Thad cut up with Tony, and Anita admonished them both to knock it off at the table and eat their dinner; they didn’t really listen, though. Before long, even she was laughing and joining in. Thad paused for a moment, taking the whole scene in. It was like a hundred years ago probably: no TV to interrupt dinner, no phone calls, just his family sitting and enjoying their time together.
• • •
Sarge had ordered that they all stop shaving, not that the guys really cared. It was worse on him than them; he had shaved every day for so long that he simply couldn’t stand the feel of the stubble on his own face. He hoped DHS was looking for clean-shaven men with a military bearing; he wanted to change that as much as possible.
After a week of no shaving and little washing, Sarge deemed them all sufficiently grubby to start their recon. Sarge called a meeting and laid out his plan. He and Ted would take one of the boats and go up to Suwannee. They would dock the boat outside of town and walk in. Both of them would be wearing civilian clothes and carrying only pistols. Mike suggested they take rifles and stash them near the boat in case they had to break contact with any bad guys. Sarge thought this over; he didn’t like the idea of taking the long guns in the boat in the event they got searched on the river. Mike reasoned they were going to engage the bad guys at one point or another anyway, so why worry about it.
Ted said he agreed with Mike, and Sarge relented and agreed to take the rifles. He modified the plan to include possible engagements on the river. If anyone attempted to search them, they would engage them on the water. A radio was put in the boat they were taking, and Doc and Mike would stand by with the other boat as a reaction force in the event they ran into any big trouble. With the plan set, they all set about getting ready to launch the mission.
Don had been sitting in the corner, eating the leftovers from breakfast. He spoke up as Sarge was changing into an old pair of jeans and an insulated flannel shirt. “Hey, Linus, see if you can get some beer in town. I’m dyin’ over here.”
“This ain’t the fucking Hilton.”
“I know that, but this is getting old; can’t go anywur, can’t do nuthin’ and no damn beer. Just take me to town an’ drop me off, then,” Don said as he started to stand up.
Sarge pushed him back into his chair. “You ain’t going anywhere. We drop you off in town and they’ll grab your ass up in a heartbeat.”
“I ain’t worried ’bout them; I ain’t done nuthin’.”
“Maybe you ain’t worried, but I’m worried what you would say to them.”
“I wouldn’t say anything ’bout y’all,” Don snorted.
“You have no idea what they would do to you. You’d be making shit up, admitting to shooting Kennedy when they got done with your sorry ass. Not to mention that you’d sell your momma out for a case of beer,” Sarge shot back.
“Now, you just wait a damn minute—”
Sarge told Mike, “You watch him. If he tries to do anything, shoot his ass.”
“Hey!”
“This ain’t no fucking game,” Sarge said.
Don eased back into his chair, slumping down. He stared at the floor, then he looked up at Sarge. “So no beer, then?”
&
nbsp; Mike started to laugh. “You gotta admire his spirit. Man knows what he wants.”
About noon, Ted and Sarge headed out into the river and turned west toward Suwannee. They were surprised to see several boats on the river, though most of them were under oar power. Everyone they passed waved at them and they waved back. It seemed like any normal day on the river. Most of the boats were fishing. They saw several people throwing cast nets; this was about getting food, not sport.
Approaching Suwannee, Sarge beached the boat. He and Ted took a minute to look around. Then they took their rifles and moved off to the west a bit and hid them in the palmettos. Satisfied with the job, they moved off toward town. Sarge had an old canvas tool bag, the kind masons use, with some barter items in it. He thought this would help their cover. As they came into town they saw very few people, so they headed toward the docks. Approaching the post office, they saw a line of people coming out the door.
Sarge set the bag down and knelt down like he was looking in it. Ted stood in front him, between him and the post office. “What do you make of it?” Ted asked.
“Remember what Thad said about the mailman? Can’t be a good thing,” Sarge replied.
Sarge was looking past Ted at the post office when he noticed the bus. It was an old YellowBird school bus sitting out in the street. As people came out of the post office, some of them would get on the bus. There was a fairly heavy security presence there as well. Everyone in line had papers in their hands and a badge clipped to the outside of their coats. As they approached the building, one of the guards would look at the badge, then rifle through some papers on a clipboard, then wave them through the door.
Sarge closed the bag and stood up. “Let’s go this way. We don’t need to get any closer to that shit.”
The two turned and headed down a lane that paralleled one of the many canals, heading south. After a block they turned to the west again, trying to find their way to the center of town, where all the big docks were. As they came out from between two buildings to the road on the next block, Sarge saw two men in black uniforms under an awning to a little shop. Sarge and Ted kept their heads down and kept on walking. They went across the street and into an alley on the other side. Sarge took out the handheld ham radio he had under his shirt and stuck an earbud in his ear.
“Swamp Rat, this is Swamp Rat Actual.”
Mike came back over the radio. “Swamp Rat Actual, have you five by five, go ahead.”
“It’s getting a little hinky here. Move up to jump off and stand by for fire support,” Sarge said.
“Roger that, we’re ten mikes out,” Mike replied.
Sarge and Ted came out of the alley and they were in the dock area. Here there were a number of people and also a number of boats that looked like small ferries. The two men stopped short near the corner of a building and looked the area over.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Ted asked.
“Looks like they’re moving people,” Sarge replied.
A man and a woman were walking down the boardwalk toward the two of them. Sarge could see the badges clipped to their coats. As they came closer, Sarge tipped his hat to them. “Howdy, folks.”
The couple looked at them and the man said, “Morning.”
“What’s all this about?” Sarge said, gesturing to the scene at the docks.
The man looked at them, looking at their chests and noticing neither of them were wearing badges. “It’s the relocation act. People are being sent to the camps where they’re needed.”
Sarge was looking at the badge on the man’s chest while he spoke. On it was the man’s picture and his ID info, including his Social Security number and a thumbprint. He also took note of the red field the man’s name was printed on.
Sarge looked back up just in time for the man to ask, “Where’s your ID? You know you can’t be out without it.”
Ted jumped in quick. “Oh, we just came into town to get ours. We live way out and just heard about it. Where are they sending you to?”
The man looked at him with a suspicious glance. “We don’t know yet; we haven’t been told.”
He looked at his wife, who was tugging on his arm. The man looked down the boardwalk and said, “We have to go.” And they walked off.
Ted glanced over his shoulder and saw two men coming their way. He looked at Sarge and cut his eyes toward the alley. The two of them turned and started back down the alley. “We need to get the hell out of here; this place is crawling with goons,” Ted said.
As they started across the street, a voice called out from behind them, “Gentlemen, can you hold up?”
Instead of stopping, they kept their heads down and kept walking. As they approached the next alley, the voice called out again, “Stop and identify yourself!”
Sarge keyed the mic on the radio. “Swamp Rat, we need to draw these guys off us now.”
“What’s your location?” Mike asked.
“We’re on the east side of town, near the river,” Sarge answered.
“Roger that, be there in two mikes,” Mike replied.
Sarge and Ted were heading for edge of town at a quick trot. The two men behind them came out of the alley. “Stop or we’ll shoot!”
They dove to the ground at the sound of shots. Sarge looked up to see Mike laying down a stream of fire with an M249. The two goons that were behind them were taking cover, their faces in the dirt. Sarge and Ted jumped up and took off running for the boat. They grabbed their rifles from where they were stashed and quickly boarded the boat, Ted shoving it off as Sarge started the engine.
“Swamp Rat, we’re clear. Head for the Alamo,” Sarge called into the radio.
Doc called back, the sound of the M249 in the background. “Roger that, Actual. Breaking contact and heading for the Alamo.”
Sarge looked down the river and saw the other boat heading their direction. Mike was still firing at the shore. Doc’s voice came over the radio as Sarge opened the throttle on the boat. “Actual, we have two fast movers coming up behind us!” The sound of the Squad Automatic Weapon, or SAW, was almost constant.
“Shit!” Sarge yelled.
“What’s up?” Ted shouted from the front of the boat.
“They have two boats after them!” Sarge yelled as he swung the boat in the center of the channel, heading toward Mike.
“Mike’s hit, Mike’s hit!” Doc screamed into the radio.
“Fuck!” Sarge yelled as he pushed the boat wide open. “Mike’s hit!”
Ted knelt down in the bow of the boat, his M4 ready. He reached into his coat pocket with his left hand, took a frag grenade and pulled the pin.
“Swamp Rat, we’re going to pass you on your left, put the hammer down, son!” Sarge yelled into the radio.
“Roger that, on the left!” Doc shouted back.
The two boats were gaining on Doc and Mike and when they were about thirty yards out, the SAW opened up again. Sarge could see Mike leaning on the transom of the boat, resting the weapon on it for support. The lead boat suddenly yawed to the right, but the other boat kept closing. Sarge veered to the right, passing Doc’s boat, and Ted opened up with his M4. As they came almost abreast of the second boat, he threw the frag. It missed and landed in the water, shooting a geyser into the air behind it. Sarge had his M4 up, firing with one hand and steering the boat with the other. One of the goons in the boat dropped. The boat wheeled in the channel and turned to the west again. Sarge turned his boat to trail Doc. Ted fired at the DHS boat as it headed west.
• • •
Back at the shack, Sarge had Ted jump out at the creek mouth, just in case. He waded ashore and took up an overwatch position. Running the boats up to the end of the creek, Sarge jumped into the boat with Mike. Blood was smeared on the deck. Sarge lifted him off the deck with Doc’s help, and the two of them got him out of the boat and onto the board
walk to the shack. Approaching the shack, Sarge kicked the door open, causing Don to jump with fright. He was tied to a chair and he fell over onto the floor with a thump.
Doc swept the little table with his free arm, knocking plates and coffee cups to the floor. They laid Mike out on the table and Doc began ripping his body armor and assault gear off him. There was an entry wound on the left side of Mike’s chin and an exit wound under his ear. Doc threw his pack into a chair and tore into it, pulling out sponges and stuffing them into the wound. Mike howled in protest, but Sarge grabbed his arms and pinned him to the table. Don was still on the floor trying to yell through the duct tape over his mouth.
Doc turned Mike’s head and examined the exit wound. “He’s going to be all right; it missed the artery, but I’m going to have to cut away some of this tissue. It’s pretty tore up.”
“Hold on, son. Doc knows what he doin’,” Sarge said.
Chapter 12
After loading the spare panels and the inverter/charger into the Suburban, I went back into the house and asked the girls if they wanted to go down to Danny and Bobbie’s, and I was met with a chorus of “Yeah!” Mel said she wanted to go too, so we locked up the house and chained the gate and headed down.
Danny had already pulled up the post with the bell on it and had it lying by the drive. All the girls headed into the house, except Little Bit; she wanted to hang out with Danny and me. We decided to put the bell up before working on the panels, so we loaded it into the Suburban with a set of posthole diggers and a shovel. There was no way Little Bit was staying behind, so we loaded her up too and headed for the barricade.
We shot the shit with the guys at the barricade while we planted the post. Little Bit amused herself by climbing on the big logs used to construct it. I had to give her a piece of paracord from my vest because she “needed some rope.” I asked if the guys had seen anyone on the road and they replied no, no one had passed.