by A. American
Sarge looked over. “Makes sense. People with trucks that still ran came up here and cleaned them out. Probably sitting in the Ocala Forest now with dead bodies inside of them.”
“I’m sure some are,” Dalton added. “These woods down here aren’t very hospitable to man or beast.”
The only things on the lot were the RVs, most of which sat with their hoods and doors open to the elements. Doomed to rot away from exposure to wind, rain and critters. I could just imagine bird nests being built in them. Or worse yet, wasp nests in profusion. Waiting on some poor unsuspecting soul to make the mistake of poking their head in.
But there was one with the awning pitched. Maybe someone was living there. Though in the heat of the summer, it would be hell stuck out in the middle of an asphalt lot. But our ideas of comfort had changed. No longer could we so radically alter the environment to suit us. We were now as much a part of the natural world as the wild animals. If it was hot, we sought shade. If it rained, we sought shelter. But there was no air conditioning. We could still make heat, but we could not make cold except in very limited amounts, such as the fridge. The thought of keeping an entire home at seventy-two degrees was as likely as walking on the moon at this point.
After making the turn onto County Highway 484, it wasn’t long before I-75 came into view. The truck-stops lining the approach to the interstate were a sad sight. Trash of every kind filled their parking lots. The doors either stood open or shattered. Sometimes both. Windblown piles of paper and plastic bottles formed heaps at the edges of curbs. Litter was everywhere. I guess the first thing to go in a crisis is the concern for one’s trash. But then, without service to haul it away, where’s it supposed to go? The apparent answer is, wherever you drop it.
I swung onto the on-ramp and looked in the mirror to make sure everyone was still there. Of course, I’d have known if there had been any trouble. I-75 was lined with cars. Fortunately, the drivers of most of them had made their way to the side of the road when their cars stalled and weren’t blocking the travel lanes.
“Keep it at about forty-five,” Sarge said as he leaned back and put his foot up on the dash.
“You know, the only people I’ve seen do that are teenage girls,” I replied.
Sarge grabbed his crotch. “I’ve got your teenage girl right here.”
Then Dalton’s leg shot out between the seats and thumped down on the tunnel cover between the us. The old man cocked an eye at it briefly before seizing the foot under his arm. Dalton nearly kicked me into the windshield when he used the back of my seat as leverage in order to snatch the trapped foot from the old man, all the while laughing uproariously.
When he finally got it free, Sarge said, “Stick it up here again, Gulliver, and I’ll cut it off!”
The radio crackled and Mike said, “We need a piss break.”
“Go ahead and stop,” Sarge said.
I stopped the truck in the middle of the road. Not bothering to pull over. Getting out, I stretched and pulled my poncho on. It was still raining pretty good and I looked back at the MRAP, which was at the rear of the column. I could see the Browning M2 swiveling around as someone inside scanned the road.
“Set up security!” Sarge barked
I walked to the front of the Hummer and leaned against the fender. Rain pelted the poncho as I tried to look out to the tree line at the edge of the road. It was obscured by the rain, low cloud ceiling and dim light. All I could see was a gray haze. But the way I figured it, if I couldn’t see over to it, anyone there couldn’t see me either. But looking up, it was obvious that the odds of anyone being out were slim.
“Saddle up!” Sarge called out.
I looked back to see everyone headed for their trucks and made my way to the driver’s door and pulled the poncho off. Getting in, I wadded it up and laid it on the floor in front of my seat. That’s the problem with these things. When you take them off, they’re soaked and you’re only somewhat drier.
We continued on our way, making decent time. Although, I was continuously doing the math in my head about how far we had to go and how we were doing. It was going to take forever to get there. And that’s provided there were no issues.
And everything was fine until we came to the outskirts of Gainesville. Just south of town on I-75, the interstate is bordered on both sides by a rest area. They sat just past the Paynes Prairie Preserve and made a good buffer for traffic coming north. And it was at this point that we encountered the first roadblock. Several cars were pushed into the travel lanes and some of the trees in the rest areas were dropped to block the shoulder. With guardrails bordering the center median, it made it virtually impassable.
“Stop here,” Sarge said. “Get up on that minime, Gulliver.” Dalton wedged himself up into the turret. Sarge keyed the mic and said, “Teddy, get on that electronic eyeball and let me know what you see.”
On it, boss.
I squinted to see. But it was futile. The rain battered the windshield and the anemic wipers could hardly keep up. Sarge reached over and pushed my face, saying, “Look out there, numb nuts. Teddy’s got an eyeball up ahead.”
I looked out the side window and replied, “You need to stop being a dick.”
“I second that!” Dalton called from the turret.
After what seemed like forever, Ted called back. Looks deserted, boss.
Sarge sat for a moment, tapping the mic on his leg. “Pull around and go check that rest area out. We’ll cover you from here.”
Moving. Ted replied.
The MRAP came around us and headed towards the exit. The truck rolled slowly up the ramp as we sat and watched. The big truck would move up a few feet and pause, then move up again. It did this repeatedly until it was finally sitting in the parking lot.
“What’s the word, Teddy?” Sarge asked.
We had a couple of bodies squirt out the back, but it looks like this has been abandoned for some time now.
“Safe for us to move up?”
Looks that way. We’ll drive out the other side. I’ll let you know if we see anything.
“We’ll wait for your call.”
It didn’t take Ted long to call back with the all-clear. We had to go up the ramp and into the rest area to get around the roadblock. The rest area was a total mess. Trash, clothes and heaps of debris were everywhere. The vending machines had been dragged out into the parking lot and stood up with sheets of plywood laid across the tops to create a shelter of sorts. A couple of rusting barrels sat by piles of wood. It was obvious that this location was manned for a long time.
“Look at that,” Sarge said, pointing out the window.
He was motioning towards a large pile of clothes, shoes and assorted personal items. Several types of cheap backpacks and messenger-type bags were mixed in. “That doesn’t look good,” I said.
“That’s nothing,” Dalton called out. “Check out your eleven o’clock.”
A tree at the edge of the parking lot was festooned with women’s undergarments like some sort of garish Christmas tree. We all knew what it meant.
“There’s been some evil shit going on here,” Sarge said.
“Yeah. Just think of all those college kids trying to get out of here,” I replied.
Sarge grunted. “I hope we run across the bastards.”
“That’s not our mission. We’ve got shit to do and it doesn’t include trying to restore order to the city of Gainesville.”
“I know, I know,” Sarge replied, waving me off. He nodded forward. “Go on, let’s get a move on.”
I pulled past the MRAP and assumed the lead of the convoy again. But as bad as the rain was, it worked in our favor and kept people sheltered, which allowed us to make it through Gainesville without seeing another soul. And that was how much of the trip went. It was just mile after monotonous
, rainy mile.
“Wish we had a radio,” I said as Lake City was coming into view.
Dalton, who was back in his seat now, leaned forward and asked, rather excitedly, “You want me to sing?”
He started to clear his throat as Sarge pointed over his shoulder at him, replying, “Don’t even think about it.”
Dalton slumped. But he perked right up and said, “Yeah. You’re right. You’re a much better singer than I am. You go.”
Sarge turned slowly in his seat. I had to laugh, because as the old man swiveled in his seat, Dalton leaned away, at the same speed. And Dalton was nearly as bad as Mike. When the old man started to turn around, Dalton again leaned forward. Sarge quickly looked back over his shoulder and Dalton instantly sat back. I laughed out loud and Sarge shook his head.
“Why am I always surrounded by assholes?” He asked.
“You’re just lucky that way,” I replied as I swung the truck onto the I-10 ramp.
Sarge nodded. “At least we’re on I-10 now. Getting closer.”
I looked at my watch, it was already after noon. “It’ll be dark before we get there.”
“What do you care? You wanted to drive in the dark.”
“Just making an observation, you old prick.”
Sarge looked at me for a minute. “We can move faster now. Speed up.”
“Why is this piece of asphalt any safer than the one we just got off of?” Dalton asked.
Sarge rocked in his seat. “Because the Army is in full control of this piece.” He pulled a fluorescent orange marker panel from a pocket and handed it to Dalton. “Get your ass up in that hole, Gulliver. Hold this up so we don’t get out asses shot off.”
Dalton wormed his way into the turret and held the panel over his head with both hands. It flapped in the wind as we rolled forward.
We were still coming around the ramp as it swung to the west. As the interstate proper came into view, so did a couple of armored vehicles. I instantly slowed. Staring down a large caliber gun will do that to you.
Sarge pointed and said, “Keep going. Just take it slow. They’re expecting us.”
As we approached the overpass of the southbound lanes of I-75, I saw several uniformed men standing under it. They were all armed, but non-threatening, as they waved us forward. As we rolled up to them, men approached the Hummer from both sides. Sarge opened his door and the young man standing there nodded at him, and greeting him, “Afternoon, Top.”
Sarge got out and shook the man’s hand. “How’s it going?” He asked.
I got out as the two men talked and looked around. A large tent was set up under the overpass, banked with sandbags. There were several other sandbagged emplacements as well. It looked to me like a well-prepared defense. The young soldier standing on my side was rocking back and forth on his heels. I looked at him and asked, “How’s it going?”
He shrugged and looked up. “Rain keeps the shitheads away.”
“You guys see a lot of action here?”
“We take a lot of pot shots. Thankfully, these dipshits can’t shoot for shit. There was one guy that was pretty good. He’d come out every day at the same time and crack off a round. He hit a couple of people. Thankfully, we all wear these.” He rapped his knuckles on the Kevlar helmet sitting on his head.
“What happened to him? He just quit coming out to play?”
He smiled. “No. He came out at nearly the same time every day. We finally just laid an ambush and shwacked his ass.”
“Shwack em!” Ted shouted from where he stood by the MRAP.
After a moment, Sarge was twirling a finger in the air and shouting, “Mount up!”
I nodded to the young soldier I was talking to and climbed back into the Hummer. Once Sarge was in, we pulled off as the soldiers waved.
“So, the road is clear all the way?” I asked.
Sarge nodded. “Yep. Put your foot into it. Let’s roll.”
And so, while it was a long ride, it was a completely uneventful one. I marked the trip by noting the passing of landmarks I recognized. Exits to places like Live Oak, Madison, Monticello and then Tallahassee. Getting to Tallahassee always gave a false sense of coming to the end of your trip. But Eglin was still a very long way ahead, just a stone’s throw from Alabama.
As the road signs told me we were getting closer to Tallahassee, I started looking for exit 217; it wouldn’t be much farther ahead. Passing the 216 mile-marker, I slowed a bit and used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the window. The sky was still gray, and the falling rain made everything outside look like the sky. But after passing the exit, I saw the little Ford sitting right where I’d left it, its silver paint blended into the surrounding murk; but it was there.
“What are you looking at?” Sarge asked as he grabbed the wheel and pulled the Hummer back into the center of the road.
“That’s my car back there. That’s where I was when this shit all started.”
Sarge looked over his shoulder, “No shit. Damn, you were one hell of a long way from home.”
“Want me to shoot it?” Dalton asked from the backseat. Sarge swiveled in his seat, giving Dalton a look and shaking his head. Dalton shrugged, “Just offering.”
We passed several other checkpoints on our travel. But in Tallahassee there was a much larger presence. Here too, we were waved through, not bothering to stop. As we came out the other side of Tallahassee, I slowed to a stop in the road. Sarge looked at me and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I need a break,” I said.
“I’ll spell you,” Dalton said as he climbed out.
Sarge got out and stretched, then told Ted to fuel all the trucks. “No sense in wasting the stop.”
“Roger that, boss,” he replied as he headed back towards the MRAP.
I walked to the front of the truck and took a long piss. When I turned around, Sarge was leaning on his door and asked, “You done now?”
I lifted my leg and farted loudly. “Am now,” I replied with a smile.
He just shook his head. “You’re getting as bad as Mike.”
“We’ve had this discussion already,” I replied, then looked around. “You know. This makes me feel good.”
“What? Pissing and shitting yourself in the rain?”
“No,” I waved a hand at the road. “Being out here knowing there’s nothing to worry about. That the military has taken control of this area.”
He nodded. “I’m honestly surprised they’ve come out as far as they have.”
I laughed. “Hell, I wish they’d come a little farther. Well, a lot farther.”
Sarge grunted. “Why? You’ve got us.”
Now I grunted. “Yeah. You really instill confidence.”
Sarge looked sideways at me before looking back over his shoulder. “I’m going to go supervise this goat rope or we’ll never get out of here.”
“Get ‘em in line,” I replied as he walked off.
It didn’t take long for me to hear Sarge shouting and cussing. It made me laugh. The sounds of his old ass raising hell, Mike and Ian cussing him back and metal drums scraping and banging, making enough noise to wake the dead. It made me wonder if he really was helping. I heard an empty drum hit the road and turned back to see it rolling into the median.
I walked back to where the chaos was taking place and asked Sarge if we should keep the drum.
“Naw,” he replied. “We need the room. We’re going to be bringing a fuel tank back with us.”
“How the hell are we going to pull that?” I asked.
Sarge looked at me quizzically and asked, “Who said anything about pulling it?” He looked back at the guys and Jamie and shouted, “Saddle up! We still got a long way to go!”
In a deep sing-song voice and mimicking an air guitar,
Mike replied, “And a short time to get there!”
Sarge just shook his head and stomped off. I followed him back to the truck with Dalton. He was wiping his hands on a rag. “Damn, diesel fuel stinks.”
“Not as bad as gasoline.”
Dalton got into the driver’s seat and I climbed into the backseat and pulled my bag over as he pulled off. I fished around inside and found the Biltong that Mel had packed for me. I was starving and quickly unwrapped the dish towel she had placed it in and took out a piece and took a big bite. It looked like she packed all of it, as there was a lot. I handed a piece up front. Dalton quickly grabbed it and I handed another piece up.
“What’s this?” Sarge asked as he took it.
“Biltong from that cow.”
“No shit? I remember you talking about it.” He took a bite and nodded. “Not bad. Pretty close to the real thing.”
“It is the real thing. How can it not be the real thing,” I asked? “It’s dry meat.”
He clamped his teeth down on the piece of meat and pulled. Getting a piece, he replied, “Cause it ain’t the same.”
“You’d bitch if you were hung with a new rope.”
“I’d bitch if I was hung with a rope made from the pubic hair of virgins!” Sarge barked. “The result is the same. Dead.”
I chewed on the dried meat and stared out the window. I was thankful I drove as far as I did and that it had not been necessary for me to climb up into the turret. Not that it was that different as rain dripped and spattered in through the opening as it was. But it was still better than sitting in that web sling.
The sun was beginning to set when we rolled into Destin. I was surprised by the number of people I saw on the streets. The reason was revealed when the gates to the base came into view and I saw a stream of civilians coming out. I guessed they were working on base in some capacity.
It only made sense. With so much of our military forward-deployed, to use the preferred term, overseas, there was a lack of manpower. And with so many able-bodied men and women around who would happily work for food for themselves and their families, it was an easy choice. Not to mention the only one.