“Maybe after we wait a bit longer, we should get A.J. and Terry to drive away in their car and your truck at the same time. If whoever is inside that store saw you drive up and saw the markings on your truck, they’ll figure there was only one officer here and that he gave up on waiting.”
“Hmm. That might work. What do you have in mind, one of us slipping around to the other side of the store so when they come out we’ll have them in a crossfire if they don’t surrender?”
“Exactly. We’ll just need to make sure they don’t get around to the back of that store. If they hit those woods, it’ll be impossible to find them in the dark without the dogs.”
“Okay, I’ll go talk to A.J. and Terry. I’m sure they’ll be happy to help. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be right here watching that door. Don’t worry.”
They’d had a dog handler that the sheriff sometimes hired to track down fugitives in the swamps and woods, but he lived over in West Baton Rouge Parish and Keith hadn’t heard from him in weeks. It didn’t matter though, because he was determined that the killers in that store weren’t going to make it to the woods. He’d give them one chance to surrender if they immediately dropped their weapons, but if they didn’t, he would take them out, and that’s what he expected to happen. It was better that way in the long run, because with the grid down, the department seriously shorthanded, and everyone doing what they had to in order to survive, dealing with prisoners was too much of a burden on available resources.
Five minutes after Greg went in to ask for their help, the two brothers came outside with him and locked the door to the café behind them. Terry drove away in A.J.’s car and A.J. took the Chevy Sierra with the department emblems on the doors, following his brother out of the parking lot and down the street to the west.
“Looks legit to me,” Keith whispered. “I’ll bet it will fool them.”
“Yep. I told them to hide the truck somewhere and to drive back by in the car without stopping every half hour or so. That way we can flag them down if we need a ride out of here.”
“Good thinking. So how do you want to do this?”
“Well, I’m up for suggestions, but if you want to stay here and cover that door with your rifle, I thought I’d slip around behind the cafe and then cut across to the east side of the store. It’s plenty dark behind that corner there.”
“That works for me if you’re up to it. Better make it quick though. They may not wait long to make their move.”
Greg was carrying his Remington 870 riot shotgun with an extended magazine. Once he was in position, he would be within 20 feet of the door and hidden in the shadows off to the side. Anyone coming out would be in point blank range for the 12-gauge, and also an easy target for Keith’s M4. Keith was prone on the concrete walkway in front of the cafe so that he could just see around the corner without presenting a target to anyone inside the glass doors and windows of the convenience store. Now that it was dark, it would be hard for them to spot him there until it was too late. If they emerged before Greg was ready, he would order them to stop and he would shoot them if they didn’t, but it would surely go smoother if they had time to set it up as planned.
Fifteen minutes passed and Keith suddenly saw a bright flash of light from out of the dark at the east corner of the building. It was Greg’s signal, a one-second press of the momentary “on” button of his tactical flashlight, aimed so Keith couldn’t miss it, but invisible to anyone inside the store from that angle. Greg was in place, but still they waited, the time seeming to drag on and on. The intruders inside the store were taking their time, and Keith wondered if A.J. and Terry might be wrong. Maybe they had found another way out and already disappeared into the woods? Or maybe they were wrong about Mr. Patel’s store being all out of stock. Maybe the storeowner had hoarded a stash of food and other supplies in the stock room, and the looters were still sorting through it? Whatever it was, Keith was really getting impatient. He wanted to get this done so he could go home. He was thinking about some kind of diversion they might use to draw out their quarry when suddenly, the front door swung open without warning.
Keith watched through his compact 2.5x scope as a large figure emerged from the store, pushing the door outwards as he backed out with his arms full of stacked boxes. When he was far enough out to turn around with his load, he held the door with his foot while a smaller person carrying more boxes ducked past him. Whatever was in those boxes was obviously heavy, as the man slowly bent his knees and lowered them to the ground before letting the door swing shut again. It was at that moment that Greg’s light suddenly illuminated the two thieves, causing the smaller one to suddenly stop and drop the boxes in surprise, while the other one spun towards the light and took a step back. Keith’s finger was on the trigger and ready when Greg ordered the two to freeze. The looters complied and moved their hands up as they nervously looked at each other and then back at Greg, who now stepped out of the dark and in front of the store, his shotgun leveled.
It seemed that everything was under control when suddenly; there was a muzzle flash from somewhere inside the building, followed by the report of a rifle. Greg staggered and dropped his flashlight, but spun and fired a round of buckshot through the glass storefront before going down. Keith couldn’t see a thing in the dark interior of the store, but he squeezed off several rounds as fast as he could fire into the area where he’d seen the muzzle flash. The two looters outside reacted by attempting to run for the corner of the building opposite Greg. Keith took aim and dropped the shorter one first, and then shot down the larger man as he drew a pistol and began firing wildly, unsure of Keith’s position.
Both of the looters now lay still while Greg was crawling for the shadows at the corner of the building. Keith waited a second or two to be sure nothing was moving inside the store, and then sprinted to Greg’s side, grabbing his fallen flashlight on the way. There was a lot of blood on the sidewalk, and when Keith reached him, Greg was weak and trembling.
“I’m hit pretty hard, man!”
“Where?” Keith asked, even as he was already looking for the source of the blood. It only took another second to find it. Greg’s shirt was soaked and the blood was still flowing from a hole in his side, just under the rib cage. Keith held pressure on it with one hand while using the flashlight in the other to look for more damage. The wound he’d found was on the side that had been facing the shooter, and it appeared there was no exit. He had no idea what kind of round had hit him, but it had passed through the heavy plate glass storefront first, perhaps expanding and dissipating some of its energy before it struck him if it were some kind of soft or hollow-point hunting round.
“Hang in there, buddy. You’re going to be all right.”
Keith glanced back over his shoulder at the two dead looters on the other end of the sidewalk. If not for having to assist Greg, he would clear the store as well and make sure no one was still alive in there, but he felt pretty confident he’d taken out the unseen shooter, if Greg’s buckshot blast hadn’t done it first. It was quiet inside and quiet on the street out front, and Keith wished now they’d set a firm rendezvous time with A.J. and Terry to bring Greg’s truck back. Keith needed to get him to someone who could help him, but that wasn’t going to happen without a vehicle for transport. So now all they could do was wait, and Keith could only hope time wouldn’t run out for Greg. His thoughts of getting back home tonight were forgotten now. Saving his friend’s life was top priority.
“You got ’em all?” Greg asked, as he looked up at Keith. “I’d hate to die knowing any of those bastards got away.”
“They didn’t get away, Greg. And you’re not going to die. As soon as A.J. and Terry get back with your truck, I’m going to drive you to the hospital in Lafayette and get you patched up. It looks like it’s just a scratch to me.”
“Yeah right. Couple inches higher and you wouldn’t have to worry about getting me to any hospital,” Greg managed, between gasps.
“Jus
t relax and don’t try to talk if it hurts. They’ll be here soon.”
Keith had removed his shirt and was using it as a compress on the wound. If he only had his boat or patrol vehicle, there would be a first-aid kit handy, but until the two brothers returned, he would have to make do. When he finally saw headlights coming down the road from the east, Keith watched closely from where he and Greg were hiding in the shadows until the approaching vehicle was close enough to identify. When he knew for sure it was A.J. and Terry, Keith stood and flashed the light at the driver three times; a signal that quickly brought the driver of the car to a stop.
“OVER HERE, A.J.! Greg’s hit!
When the two men pulled up Keith directed them to help move Greg before he went to check the dead looters. The headlights shining through the broken glass illuminated the interior of the store enough for him to see a body sprawled on the floor there. After they had Greg in the passenger’s seat, Keith made a quick sweep to collect the weapons. The dead shooter inside was a woman, as was the shorter one outside. All three appeared to be in their twenties and probably weren’t criminals before the insurrection. Like so many others, they had become desperate to the point they were willing to kill an innocent storeowner just to steal some food. They’d attempted to kill his partner and friend too, and Keith didn’t feel remorse for wasting them all, as he knew that Greg might die yet. He got into the car and A.J. drove them back to where they’d left Greg’s truck. Once they had Greg moved into it, A.J. fished out a bottle of whiskey he had under his seat and handed it to Keith.
“This may help him a little until you get there, Keith. Good luck!”
“Thanks, A.J. I’ll be stopping by to see about identifying those bodies tomorrow. I don’t think there was anyone else helping them, but be careful when you go back there.”
Thirteen
“DAMMIT!!!! I SHOULD HAVE opened fire on that son of a bitch!” Eric said, as he took the prop out of gear and shoved the throttle lever back to idle. This was no mere grounding on the bottom, because in a marshy place like this the natural bottom would only be mud and sand. Dreamtime had hit something that was as solid as a reef, and from the sound of metal grinding upon metal that he’d heard; Eric had no doubt it was something big and manmade. He helped Bart back to his feet after the impact slammed him forward against the main bulkhead hard enough to put a nasty bruise on his father’s shoulder. Shauna had been thrown from her bunk as well, and her outcry of pain sent Daniel below to check on her even as Jonathan yelled from somewhere in the water where he’d been catapulted over the bow.
“How is Shauna? Is she okay?” Eric called down to Daniel.
“I think so, she just bumped her bad hand pretty hard.”
“JONATHAN! Where are you, buddy?”
“I’m good, dude! WHAT THE HELL?”
Eric leaned over the rail to see Jonathan swimming beside the boat, heading aft to the stern boarding ladder. “I don’t know. We hit something as solid as a rock! Can you see anything down there?”
“No, but I felt something with my foot up near the front of the boat. There’s something underwater here, for sure!”
Eric leaned over the rails on both sides, looking, but could see nothing. After swinging the ladder down so Jonathan could climb back aboard, he went forward to the bow, walking on the angled port side deck—the low side now that the schooner was listing some fifteen degrees to port.
“See if you can back her off under power!” he yelled back to Bart. “I think maybe it’s just the forward part of the hull that hit!”
Eric heard the engine rev to full throttle and saw the prop wash sweeping past the hull from the reverse thrust. The engine was moving a lot of water, but Dreamtime didn’t budge from whatever she was lodged on. Eric rushed back to the cockpit and told him to shut it down, as it was apparent they weren’t getting off that easily.
“Whatever it is, we’re sitting on it pretty good,” Bart said.
“Yeah, and the unfortunate thing about that is that we’re pretty much at peak high tide. I’m going below to look for signs of damage to the inside of the hull. Then I’ll go over the side and try and figure out what we’re dealing with.”
Down below, Eric checked the bilges and as much of the hull interior as he could access, looking for water intrusion.
“What do you think, Eric?” Shauna asked, as she sat there on her bunk with Daniel waiting for the pain of hitting her injured hand to subside.
“I don’t see that it punctured the hull, so that’s good. But I think we hit something big. Something big and solid and probably metal, from the sound of it.”
“Something left there by the hurricane?” Daniel asked.
“Probably. It could be a wreck. I’m going to go have a look but the water is so murky it’ll be more like feeling around blind than anything else.”
When he was in the water with his mask, snorkel and fins, Eric swam forward along the hull to the bow, feeling the topsides as far down as he could reach along the way until he made contact with whatever it was they’d hit. Taking a deep breath, he submerged until he was on top of whatever it was, and then he eased his way along to the place where the schooner’s hull was in contact with it. Just as he’d thought, it was a big metal object under there. As he swam aft again down the side of the sailboat, he was quite sure that what was under there was the hull of another vessel—a vessel that had sank and was lying on its side on the river bottom. Eric surfaced to get another breath and then dove again, exploring the perimeter of the submerged wreck to try and determine how big it was and how much of Dreamtime’s hull was in contact with it.
Just as he’d known before he went in the water, Eric couldn’t see much of anything down there, but he could feel his way along, and it didn’t take long to determine that the sunken vessel they’d hit was about as long as Dreamtime herself, and since it seemed to be made of steel, it was probably a commercial fishing or work boat of some kind. How it ended up on the bottom here, he had no idea, but he figured it could have been an old derelict left tied up somewhere along the riverbank that got swept away in the storm surge. His guess that it was old proved correct when he discovered that part of the keel of Dreamtime had sliced its way right into the rusty topsides of the sunken vessel. That was far worse than if it had simply ran up on top of it. Now, with the keel wedged into that wreckage of twisted metal, getting the schooner off was sure to prove far more difficult. It was just their bad luck that such a wreck happened to be in the one spot that the inconsiderate barge captain forced them out of the channel; that and the fact that it happened at high tide too. What a mess!
“What do you think?” Bart asked, when Eric finally swam back around to the cockpit and pushed his mask back on his forehead.
“I think we’re in quite a fix.” Eric quickly told them what he’d found. “Because of the way it’s jammed into that old hull, we’re going to have to pull the boat straight back. If it hadn’t broke through, we could probably heel her over some and slide her off, but it looks like the keel rode up onto it when it hit. There was enough momentum to cause it to ride up on it and then when enough weight was on it, the old hull just caved in. I don’t know if pulling from the stern is going to work without some way to lift the bow.”
“And we’ve got no way in hell to do that without help,” Bart said.
“We won’t get any from the tide, that’s for sure. If this had happened on a low and there was enough range, it’d be simple enough, but no such luck for us.”
“So what are we gonna do?” Jonathan asked.
“The only thing we can do is get the stern anchor set as far aft as we can and see if we can winch her back. I don’t think it’s likely, but we need to try it right now, because the more the tide drops the less our chance of success. I don’t want to waste time untying and launching the dinghy. If you guys can pass me one of those empty Jerry cans so I can use it for floatation, I’ll swim the anchor out.”
Jonathan did as he was asked and handed Eric
one of the empty 6-gallon plastic containers. With the cap and vent tightly sealed and the container floating on its side, it would support the big Fortress stern anchor and the thirty feet of chain at the end of the nylon rode. By hanging onto it and pushing it in front of him as he kicked with his fins, Eric was able to quickly move the anchor 200 feet aft, and then slide it off the makeshift raft and swim it to the bottom to get a good set. That done, he returned to the boat to help the crew attempt to winch her off.
They led the bitter end of the rode forward to the big windlass at the bow, as it was the most powerful winch on board and had not only a chain gypsy for the main road but also a drum to handle rope on the other side. Running it through the chocks on the stern kept the forces in line with the anchor, and when he had taken up the slack, Eric directed the rest of the crew to move as far aft as possible to try and get some weight off the bow. Everyone was crowded into the small aft cabin when he began pumping the windlass handle back and forth to reel in the line. The rode went taut and quivered like a guitar string when the natural stretch was taken up, but Dreamtime didn’t budge even though the anchor held firm in the soft river bottom mud. There simply wasn’t enough power in the manual windlass to extract the 20,000-pound vessel from the wreckage. Like Eric suspected, it was going to take a combination of lifting forces with the pulling to get the job done.
“So what do we do now, hope for a higher tide to come in?” Jonathan asked.
“We could, but we’d be waiting a long time. It would take an extra foot or more to give us the lift we need. Another storm surge would do it, but I doubt that’s going to happen in the near future.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Daniel wanted to know. “We can’t just stay here in the middle of nowhere.”
“No, we’ve got to get her off, but it’s going to take some help, something like a bigger boat with a boom of some kind that can give us some lift. A crane would be even better.”
Feral Nation Series: Books 1-3: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series Boxed Set Page 29