by Zack Finley
Each scout wore a radio, as did someone in each vehicle. We assigned at least five shooters to each vehicle. The order of march was the four scout ninjas on point, a truck, the bus and two trucks as the sweepers.
We agreed the scouts were the most vulnerable and each wore plate carriers, NVGs, and radios, courtesy of Ben, Craig, and Razor. Mike insisted on being in the first ninja group. He expected to trade off with Tom, Allie, Joel, and me. The other three were also experienced soldiers, familiar with the radios and NVGs.
I drove the first pickup truck, with Allie navigating. Grady and two of his men rode with us. We were the QRF to support the scouts.
Joel drove the bus. It had all the children, Lois, Juanita, Craig, Ben, Andy, Kurt, and the weakest shooters.
Tom drove one of the flanker pickups, and Jules drove the other. John rode with Tom. I gave Jules my radio.
Grady and I both encouraged those not driving to rest. We left at 13:00.
◆◆◆
Chapter 12
It felt good to get on the road. I mentally waved goodbye to the Cumberland, but now I was eager to get home. To my girls. My watch told me it was February 8. We left the Valley in the early morning hours of January 29, less than 12 full days ago. It seemed like a lifetime.
It was longer than any separation from my girls since Irene died. I knew Granny and my mom were surrounding them with love, but I missed them. It would be terrible if my absence caused Melissa to start having nightmares again. I was more worried about Jennifer. As the oldest, she blamed herself for her mother's death. Only intense therapy and a hard-earned belief that I wasn’t leaving let her move forward.
It would break my heart if Jennifer returned to the sullen teenager she became after Irene died.
The two of them just got over the trauma of my wounding during the Oneida shootout.
"Clear through Lenox, stay on 182," Mike radioed. Allie had removed the earpiece from her radio so we all could hear.
Driving the wrong way on a freeway felt odd, but the scouts advised it was the only side with enough room for everyone to get through. There were still plenty of vehicles abandoned in traffic lanes and on the shoulder. We were lucky the Obion River bridge still had most of a lane free. The river was about 200 feet wide at the bridge, but the guardrails extended much further. It looked like someone pushed cars off this stretch with a bulldozer at some point, enough to get by.
"Rufus, do you have anyone who can drive a school bus?" I asked over my shoulder.
"They can't be that much harder than a Humvee," Rufus Grady said. "All my Army guys, including Dwayne, can do that. Not sure amongst the others as it never came up. I'd bet Jimmy can since he is good on both gasoline and diesel engines."
"Could you confirm that at the first break? I'll also have Joel ask everyone on his bus, just in case we have some folks with hidden talents," I said. "Ben's ribs won't let him drive, and Craig shouldn't. Kurt is too young, and Juanita can't see well enough."
"We don't need any relief for him for a while, so it will wait," Grady said.
TN 182 was surprisingly hilly so close to the river. Forests on both sides crowded the highway with occasional breaks for farms and houses. As we approached its end, we passed an upscale community surrounding a private lake. Most of those houses had smoking fireplaces and a growing number of stumps. We didn't see anyone outside, but I felt sure someone watched from cover.
We caught up with the trailing set of ninjas waiting for us where TN 182 joined TN 78 back toward Dyersburg. Allie warned us this we'd be turning right away. No fooling, it was on and then off again, following the scouts. We were back in flat farmland with patches of trees.
"We have a roadblock on Fuller Road where it crosses the first creek. We need a pickup to help clear it. Someone cut the tires, and we can't just push the cars out of the way," Mike radioed.
The scouts leading us sped up, and so did I.
"Allie, tell Tom to sandwich the bus, just in case," I said. "We'll pull ahead to check it out." I heard everyone behind me check their weapons as Allie relayed my message.
"Do we have a way around if needed?" I asked.
"Not easily, there are two creeks that dominate this side of the Obion River. It will be better if we can get by, though it makes me wonder about the second creek," she said.
"We can drag a pickup out of the way," I said. My truck had the jacks, come-alongs, cables, chains, and snatch blocks. The truck had enough horsepower to pull substantially more than its own weight. The true test was whether we could keep from spinning the wheels. This is where we'd miss the semi-truck.
I sent two scouts ahead to check out bridge number two. The rest of us prepared to drag a disabled SUV out of the roadway. Someone slashed the tires after it was in place. Even in neutral, five of us couldn't budge it. Once we hooked it to the tow chain, the truck and four people coaxed it out of the way, eventually. The scouts reported the bridge was clear to Millsfield Highway.
We pulled the disabled car just far enough out for the bus to slip by. While we were dealing with the roadblock, Juanita forced the kids to get out of the bus and pee. I noted a few of the guys took advantage of the break to do the same.
Everyone piled back in, and we left in the normal order. Jimmy swapped places from his spot in the truck with Jules so he could ride in the bus, giving us a backup bus driver for Joel.
It was 14:00 and we'd only gone 15 miles. Past the bridge, the number of houses declined, and the expanse of farmland increased. We passed acres of corn stubble and fenced pastureland. The old farmhouses had smoke pouring from their chimneys, but most of the more modern homes had no chimneys.
We didn't slow down to check for residents, but I guessed they were empty. Would they return when the weather warmed? Consolidated living in cold weather but dispersed during the other three seasons? Tennessee was lucky, the weather started to mellow in March. You could probably cook outdoors from March through mid-November. If you took some heated bricks or river rocks to bed with you, you could make do with some heavy blankets much of that time.
By next winter I suspected there would be makeshift wood-fired heaters inside some of those homes. It was something to discuss with my mom when I got home. It could help repopulate some of the areas around Huntsville, especially if security continued to improve.
We made a series of zigs and zags through the countryside following county roads, most without numbers until we crossed US 51. Stalled vehicles clogged US 51, but we skirted by on surface streets, like Biffle Road, near Newbern.
Stalled vehicles continued to provide driving challenges, but actual roadblocks now seemed random and more natural. Especially since the tires weren't slashed. Each roadblock added a delay. Weaving from one shoulder to the other, kept our speed below 40 mph even on straight highways. The weaving was hardest on the bus, forcing us to stop every few miles to shove a few a car or two off the road to let it by.
Despite the challenges, we avoided any security hazards. The locals kept to themselves. While I preferred traveling at night, the speed seemed worth the risk. It would be much slower at night with the added danger caused by impaired vision. NVGs were great, just not as good as normal vision.
The only place I felt strongly about avoiding during daylight was Clarksville.
We took TN 77 out of Newbern and pulled over to caucus on the route. We stopped at the intersection with Johnny Dodd Road to decide whether to go south to Dyer or north to Rutherford. There were two more forks of the Obion River to get by. Farm roads crisscrossed this entire flat region, but, as we now realized, most avoided crossing railroads, creeks, or rivers.
The plethora of roads apparently discouraged locals from establishing roadblocks, even at those key crossings. I wasn't complaining. Even if we ran into one, there were plenty of options, though it would extend our trip.
Juanita handed out slabs of corn mush at the stop, and everyone took a latrine break. We swapped out ninjas and riders. The weather continued to be cold and raw.
It was now 15:45, and by my odometer, we'd only gone 45 miles. Equivalent to our speed upriver on the Cumberland.
Two of the ninja riders switched with two guys in my truck and Tom swapped with Mike. From the way the two men in the back were shivering, we needed to trade off more frequently. I cranked up the truck’s heater.
We picked north through Rutherford, expecting to cross the Rutherford Fork of the Obion River there.
Soybeans seemed the premier farm crop here, interspersed with corn. This area favored single-story ranch-style homes with huge yards. We came into Rutherford on TN 105. There were quite a few new stumps, especially near some of the older houses with smoking chimneys. We zigged and zagged on narrow streets to cross the railroad, but someone either towed the dead cars, or this area didn't have any.
A sign directed us to Davy Crockett's cabin, but we couldn't afford the detour. He was a much bigger than life Tennessean. I didn’t realize he once lived here. He was better known for his exploits in the more rugged sections of eastern Tennessee.
Everyone felt relief when the scouts reported the bridge over Rutherford Fork was passable. Once we crossed over, we switched to TN 445 to get past the South Fork of the Obion River.
With darkness, everything slowed down. We also had several lengthy backtracks, to get around blocked bridges over no-name creeks. If it only involved moving one or two cars, we dragged them out of the way. More than that and we took another route.
Driving with NVGs required a lot of concentration, and we swapped off throughout the night drawing ever closer to where we left the ferry east of Big Sandy.
At times it felt we took one step back for every step forward. Despite the frustrations, our progress through eastern Tennessee continued. Until we finally met up with the route we took from the ferry to Hickman.
Once this happened, we pulled in all the scouts to warm up. When we resumed our journey, we cut back to two scouts. I drove, and Allie sat beside me, handling navigation duties.
If anything changed on our route in the past week, I couldn’t tell. I drove with tunnel vision, focused on the eerie green world of night vision goggles. Intent on staying on the road and not plowing into other vehicles. My head ached, and my shoulders and neck were sore from concentration.
By 04:00, we were about 10 miles from the ferry. I tried not to think about what could have happened to the ferry. Joel disabled it before we left, but was that enough? My mind ran through various scenarios anyway, from it sinking to someone just cutting it adrift and everything in between.
Allie already declared we should move the three pickups across first with as many people as possible and return for the bus. At an hour each way that meant a three-plus hour delay, if things went well. The ferry had a generator, so we could top off the ninjas during the trip across, plus any other depleted batteries.
I wanted to use this delay for everyone to get some rest. We'd swap around people to keep at least half the shooters in each group. Allie and Joel weren't getting any rest, so they would need downtime on the road to the Zinc Plant bridge.
Crossing the Cumberland River at Clarksville in the dark was still the plan, even if we had to camp for much of the day to ensure it.
We were in luck; the ferry was just where we left it. It took moving batteries, jumper cables, and some Joel magic to get first the generator and then the engine started.
Without our auxiliary boats, all our eggs were in this basket, and I made sure Joel was confident the engine was stable before we loaded up the first group. I went with the first group, and Grady stayed behind with the bus.
It was dark on the water, and the wind was whipping down the channel. At Allie's request, Grady pointed the bus toward the water and turned on its lights. The spotlight on the ferry was wimpy compared with the one on the Cumberland. She worried about losing her bearing on the unfamiliar dark waters. We'd do the same with one of the pickups on the opposite shore if she needed it for her return trip.
Once Allie gave the okay, the plan was to drive the bus on surface streets to park at the actual ferry landing on the west side of the river. Then turn the lights back on. The landing was on a long spit sticking out in the lake. It should shorten the next trip by almost half. We'd considered it on the drive to Hickman but rejected it because it had no place to park or hide the ferry.
It felt odd to be back on the water. This boat was quieter, and the vibration underfoot less pronounced. The wind was just as cold, but the water looked a lot different. Gone was the constant roiling movement of the Mississippi River. Here, wind-driven waves splashed against our bow and port side, leaving frozen spray on the deck.
I ducked back into the truck, glad to be back out of the wind. Sleep eluded me, now concerns about the ferry were behind me. I focused on the next obstacle, the Zinc Plant bridge. That was where we picked up the M240b on the drive out.
We didn't know how many warriors they had, but they reacted quickly to our first intrusion. Now I regretted leaving their guards alive.
I had three kids sleeping in the back seat of my pickup. Lois wrapped them in blankets and settled them in for the ride. I wasn't even clear who they belonged to. The pickup's center console made it hard to sleep in the front seats. I tilted the seat back and rested my eyes.
This ferry landing was where we picked up Kurt. I wondered if he wanted to drop by his old house and pick something up. I suspected he never wanted to see it again. The snuffling sounds behind me, and the vibration of the ferry lulled me asleep.
The jolt of connecting with land brought me awake. Turning the engine on, I raised the seat back and waited for the truck in front of me to pull off. As soon as my back wheels cleared the deck, I saw the ferry in my rear-view mirror back out for the return trip. Allie wasn't wasting any time.
I drove to the front position and noted Jules' truck now faced the water with its headlights on. I expected Allie would tell us to cut the light as soon as she straightened up the ferry and had it aimed for the lights now shining across the way. The bus lights seemed suspended in the middle of the lake.
No semi. Sometime in the past week, someone salvaged it. I wished them well. Even if it remained, all we planned for it this trip was to salvage some fuel for the bus. It was 06:15 another half hour to sunrise. The sky was black as it only gets in pre-dawn moments. The moon never made an appearance. The youngsters slept through our leaving the ferry.
I lent my NVGs to one of Grady's man assigned to guard duty. A perimeter walk was just what I needed to ease the kinks in my back and legs. The surrounding hills blocked a lot of the wind, so it wasn't as cold as the ferry's deck. Jules moved his truck to make room for the bus to drive off the ferry.
The main sounds I heard was the slap, slap of waves on the shore. The ferry engines were more imagined than heard on the dark water. The bus lights were a beacon in the distance, and I could only see the ferry as a black silhouette against them. Away from the shore, the chorus of rustling leaves edged out the sounds from the lake.
I slipped back in the truck, closing the door only part way to avoid waking the sleeping kids. This time I was in the passenger seat and cranked it all the way back. Exhaustion claimed me.
The sun had already cleared the hills to our east when the opening of the cab door woke me up. Lois was putting the kids back on the bus. I offered to carry one, and she handed me the largest youngster camping in my truck. He seemed about 8 years old. He was a limp noodle when I pulled him into my arms.
Juanita was everywhere. Pots of water were steaming on the stoves. I carried my treasure onto the bus and tucked him into one of the nests. I passed several other adults carrying similar burdens heading to the bus. My pickup was empty when I returned to it.
Joel and Allie were walking back from the dock where they'd tied up the ferry. Tom and Grady were looking over Allie's map. I joined them.
"Juanita wants to feed everyone and reheat the batches of soybeans and corn that we soaked yesterday. If we stop close to our destination for a few
more hours, she thinks another boil will make them edible. Tom says it should take at most three hours to get to Zinc Plant bridge, based on your progress on the ride out. It is just 07:20 now, and sunset was just before 18:00 yesterday. Since we probably don't want to hit that roadblock until at least 22:00, I told her to go ahead," Grady said, with a question in his voice.
"Sounds fine," I said. "We can probably limit our scouts to two in front today. Allie marked the problem areas on our map. If we avoid those, it should be clear. Once we start tonight, I want to drive through tomorrow daytime. Rest overnight and then drive until we get to the Valley."
"I agree," Grady said. "Do you want to tell Juanita or should I."
"I'd rather stay out of her way," I said, chuckling to show I didn't really mean it. Not really. I still remembered her grabbing the butcher knife when we took Grady's soldiers into custody.