by Bobby Akart
“Mr. President, I can’t specifically address the first question because, without electricity supplying our communications around the country, you have to rely upon something akin to word of mouth. As for when, nobody can provide you an answer with absolute certainty. While the magnetic field has weakened due to a pole shift in our planet’s history many times, it has never been experienced by modern man. At NASA and NOAA, we will measure ozone levels and things like that and provide substantive data on the atmosphere. However, it’s impossible to provide any kind of time frame.”
“In other words, you can let me know when it’s happening, but not before.”
“Correct. Only that it will most likely occur if the poles continue to wander.”
Chapter 34
Riverfront Farms
Southeast Indiana
Squire Boone had a donkey. As the magnetic field reversed, the half dozen horses kept in the stables at Riverfront Farms became increasingly agitated. At first, Squire separated them, assuming they were feeding off one another’s anxiety. While this helped somewhat, he was still concerned about the animals’ mental stability, especially when it came to transporting his grandkids around the farm.
The donkey was the oldest-known pack animal, dating back to 3500 BC. Unlike their distant cousin the mule, donkeys tended to have a better disposition and seemed to be smarter. However, the two creatures were different in many ways.
Mules were produced by breeding a male donkey to a female horse. This crossbreed was more prevalent. Hinnies, a cross between a male horse and a female donkey, were more meticulous than their mule counterparts and were preferred by ranchers in the mountains of the American Southwest for travel across steep, rocky terrain.
Squire had bought the animal at a cattle auction to have on the farm as a pet a few years ago for his grandkids. Donkeys were smaller and therefore less intimidating for the youngsters. As Rachel and Jesse grew older, they bonded with Wonky, as the donkey became known because one ear was larger than the other, which gave his head the appearance of being askew. Jesse thought he looked wonky as a result, and Wonky Donkey became the critter’s name.
Squire loaded the kids and their fishing gear on Wonky’s back and headed down to the Ohio River for a morning of fishing. He’d heeded Chapman’s warning and insisted that everyone wear the appropriate gear—long-sleeve tee shirts, baseball caps, polarized sunglasses, and plenty of high-SPF lotion slathered on. They looked odd, but they were protected.
The river contained a wide variety of bass, catfish, and crappie. Squire owned a bass boat, a flat-bottomed boat with a trolling motor, and a couple of canoes, which had frequently been used by his kids when they were growing up.
He also owned a pedal-powered fishing kayak. In order to conserve gas, he and the kids decided to use the kayak because Squire could keep them moving from spot to spot while keeping his hands free to fish.
“Okay, kids, you know we have to be careful when fishing in the kayak. Whenever you stand and cast your line, you’ll use your whole body. You’ve gotta stay balanced, or you might fall out.”
“Okay, Grandpa,” replied Jesse, who enjoyed fishing as much as his grandfather did. Rachel was along for the ride and the opportunity to spend time with her big brother, whom she looked up to.
“Jesse, start out with this long-handled rod. This will give you more stability when you reel them in. I’m gonna drop a line and let it bounce along to pick up some of these bottom feeders.”
“Are we gonna stay by the shore?” the young boy asked.
Squire used a paddle to push away from the reddish-brown, sandy shoreline and began to paddle upriver. As the morning wore on, and he wore down, it would be easier to get back to the donkey using the current to assist him.
“I don’t know. The water’s pretty calm, and there haven’t been any barges in days. Let’s make our way out into the channel and try our luck.”
The three spent a couple of hours in the main channel and had little success. Squire was beginning to feel some pain in his lower abdomen and the telltale signs of a fit of diarrhea coming on, the rumblies, as he called them.
He began to paddle back to shore while Jesse continued to fish. They’d accumulated several smallmouth bass and quite a few crappies, a worthy haul that would feed everyone dinner that evening. Satisfied with their catch, Squire began to steer them back toward shore.
Suddenly, the trio felt a thump underneath the boat.
Rachel screamed, which in turn startled Jesse, who lost his footing and fell backward into the kayak. Squire looked all around the kayak, but nothing emerged from the water.
“Are you guys okay?” he asked.
“What was that?” asked Rachel.
“I don’t know, but I think it’s fine.”
“It was a big fish!” exclaimed Jesse.
Squire looked around one more time and set his feet back into the pedal stirrups. He could feel his bowels loosening as the jolt of adrenaline seemed to hasten the onset of the diarrhea. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and tried to pedal, but the mechanism was stuck.
He shook his head in disbelief as he tried to move his feet in the stirrups, backwards and forwards, without success. He grabbed one of the paddles and leaned over the side of the boat. He shoved the blade underneath, searching for an obstruction.
He found one. A big one, in fact.
He bent over the edge to get a better look through the murky river water. He couldn’t see the obstruction, so he shoved the paddle even harder under the boat. When he did, the paddle initially met resistance as before. Squire tried again, harder this time.
The paddle dislodged the obstruction, which floated away on the other side of the kayak as Squire’s momentum carried him overboard and into the river.
“Grandpa!” yelled Jesse.
Rachel shrieked and grabbed Jesse’s arm to get his attention. Then Jesse let out a bloodcurdling scream.
The obstruction that had lodged itself under the kayak was a dead child. The body floated facedown and got swept up in the current, slowly floating away from the kayak.
While the kids stared at the corpse, consumed with fear, they didn’t notice their grandfather flailing in the river as the invisible fist he’d experienced before grabbed his intestines and squeezed the life out of them. It became difficult for him to breathe, and his mind couldn’t decide whether to double over to ease the pain inside him or try to get back into the boat.
Then he went under.
When a person drowns, they don’t necessarily die because water fills their lungs. Oftentimes, the body will asphyxiate itself because the windpipe closes to protect against taking in the water.
Squire’s body wrestled with itself as it tried to choose between gasping for air due to the sudden gripping of its intestines, and closing off the airways because it was submerged in the river. Its reaction was to violently flail about, desperately trying to bring itself afloat.
Jesse was the first to notice that his grandpa was lost below the surface when he saw his green John Deere cap floating in the same direction as the bloated corpse. “Grandpa! Rachel, where’s Grandpa?”
Rachel yelled, “Help! Help!”
Both kids were frantic as the tears and fearful cries overwhelmed them. Jesse reacted instinctively and jumped into the water after his grandfather.
The news was full of heartbreaking examples of a person coming to the rescue of someone drowning, only to drown themselves. It was so common that there was a name for it—aquatic victim instead of rescuer syndrome, or AVIR.
Jesse didn’t read the news, nor did he have any idea what AVIR meant. All he knew was that his grandpa was about to die. He swam around the boat as fast as he could in an attempt to bump into Squire. The water was too dirty to see more than a few feet in front of him.
He heard the water being moved. Frantically. Urgently. He glanced up to get his bearings to see where the kayak was. The shadow of the hull blocked the sunlight that pierced the surface
.
Drowning victims, especially adults, can be dangerous to the rescuer. Someone who was panicking would instinctively clutch at anything and use it to push itself upward. This desperate attempt at survival necessarily resulted in forcing their rescuer down.
Jesse’s young lungs held on as long as he could. He moved toward the displaced water as he sensed the swirling motion. It was under the kayak.
Where the dead body had been stuck before.
He put the visual of the bloated child out of his mind and swam toward the kayak. His eyes grew wide. He could hear Rachel screaming. He heard a thumping sound. It was his grandpa.
Squire was lodged under the kayak, trying to push himself around the hull to the surface. Jesse swept his arms to propel himself forward to help.
Squire kicked his legs in a last-ditch effort to clear the hull, smacking Jesse directly in the forehead.
The young boy closed his eyes, and darkness began to overcome him. He wanted to sleep, and subconsciously, he was annoyed with his sister for screaming and raising a ruckus.
It was her screams that his mind held onto, preventing him from blacking out completely. His body grew limp and began to float until, suddenly, a strong hand grabbed him by the back of the shirt and lifted him upward, through the water, and into the bright sun.
He could see the light.
Jesse’s eyes opened wide, and he immediately gasped for air, sucking it in as fast as his lungs would allow. A familiar face appeared in front of his.
The face he saw was Chapman’s.
*****
Chapman and Isabella had been patrolling the perimeter of the farm on one of the four-wheelers when Isabella spotted the floating body. Chapman raced toward the shoreline, and that was when they heard Rachel’s cries for help. He quickly stripped down to just his jeans and raced into the water. He’d arrived at the kayak just as Squire emerged on the other side. Rachel directed him toward Jesse, and Chapman immediately pulled the child to the surface, saving his life.
With Isabella’s help, Chapman secured the kayak and pulled it back to shore together with his dad and nephew holding onto the sides. When they reached the bank, everyone collapsed on the dirty sand, chests heaving and begging for air to fill their lungs.
After confirming with each other that they were okay, Chapman sat up and helped his father upright as well. Isabella cradled Rachel in her lap and hugged Jesse around the shoulder.
“Son, I don’t know where to start,” Squire began before Chapman cut him off.
“Dad, it doesn’t matter what happened. Why rehash it? You guys are safe and alive.”
“But I have to tell you something,” Squire tried to explain. He wanted to explain.
“Not now, Dad. Later.” Chapman stood and shielded his eyes from the sun. He looked down to his father. “I thought I saw a body floating out there.”
Rachel answered, “You did, Uncle Chapman. It was a little boy. He was dead.” She began to cry again, as did Jesse. Isabella looked to Chapman and then hugged the kids, speaking to them in a soothing voice. It would be some time before they got over the trauma of seeing the dead boy, not to mention the near tragic deaths of Squire and Jesse.
Squire recovered and then was embarrassed when he realized that his bowels had let loose during the ordeal. His pants were soiled by the diarrhea, but the river water had washed them immediately.
He chuckled and patted Chapman on the shoulder. “I can’t decide if your mother is gonna whoop me or make fun of me for poopin’ my pants.”
Chapman laughed and helped Jesse stand, who immediately wrapped his arms around his uncle’s waist. “I suspect first she’ll hug all three of you for being okay. Then she’ll laugh about your britches. Lastly, you’d better run, Dad. She’s probably gonna take a switch to you.”
Squire laughed and the three of them began walking toward the four-wheeler. Suddenly, Squire stopped and grabbed Chapman’s arm.
“What is it, Dad?”
“Son, look at that pole I planted in the ground.”
“Um, okay. I see it. I assume those markings and numbers refer to the river level.”
“That’s right. But here’s the thing. They’re up.”
“Good!” Chapman’s initial reaction was natural; then he caught himself. “Wait, how much?”
“That’s just it. The water level is up nearly fifteen inches.”
Chapman walked closer and knelt down next to the post. He gave it a gentle shake to determine if it had been manipulated or perhaps wasn’t secured properly. He stood and turned to his father. “Dad, there hasn’t been any rain, right?”
“No, son. Not a drop. Not in Ohio, West Virginia, or Pennsylvania either, as far as I know.”
Chapman walked to the water’s edge and looked up and down the Ohio River. That was when it struck him. The body was not floating toward the Mississippi River. It was going backwards toward Louisville.
Upstream. Or is it downstream?
Chapter 35
Lake Huron
Levi held onto the dead woman for several minutes as the trawler’s engines throttled up and left a wake that gradually swept over them. The bullet had grazed his forearm and embedded in her chest before exiting her back. It might’ve pierced Levi’s chest had it not been for the compass that was in his shirt pocket.
After he was sure he no longer needed the body as a human shield, he allowed her to drift away from him, leaving a faint film of blood on the surface around him. He watched her for as long as he could before she slipped below.
Levi fought back the tears as he tried to make sense of the senseless act. Frustrated, he shouted as loud as he could, screaming and then moaning in mental agony.
“Why?” he hollered over and over again.
Why did my plane have to crash?
Why did my best friends have to be mauled by wolves?
Why did those men have to batter, abuse, and then murder this defenseless woman?
Levi continued to tread water, ignoring the pain his body was suffering and the cold that was overcoming him from the lake. He had yet another moment of regret. Regret for leaving his family to go hunting in the first place. Regret in leading his friends to their death. And regret for trying to save this poor woman from getting raped, only to have her murdered instead.
Then Carly and the kids consumed his mind. He fought off the past and looked toward the future. His survival.
Levi pulled the compass out of his shirt pocket and held it in just the right way to use the moonlight to reflect off the face. The bullet had dented the brass backing, but astonishingly, the compass still appeared to work. He recalled the map and Detroit’s location in relation to Sault Ste. Marie. South, the new east. The compass was true, assuming the fishing boat continued to sail toward Detroit. He circled in the water, hoping to see any form of lights.
Off in the distance, too far to gauge the distance but not so far away that he dismissed any thought of swimming there, a beacon of light flashed in a continuous, circular fashion.
“A lighthouse,” Levi said aloud. He thought of the lighthouses he’d seen as a kid when his family traveled. They were usually located near harbors or shallow waters with potentially perilous rocky coasts. Regardless, a lighthouse was located on land, and that was good enough for him.
Wounded from head to toe, Levi began to use a breaststroke to propel his body toward the lighthouse. As he traveled toward it for the next hour, the sun began to peek above the horizon. The stars gave way to blue skies, and as he approached the shore, he began to make out the silhouettes of houses and a sandy beach.
He was going to make it.
He kept swimming, his hopes of getting home rising with every stroke of his arms. The bleeding from the bullet wound continued, but Levi put it out of his mind. A slight breeze caused just enough waves toward shore to lend an assist.
He willed himself forward. Soon, the houses came into better view and an open space along the shore lay directly in front of him. A pavilio
n-style building was off to the right, with a smaller one just to its left. A park of some kind, complete with a playground and walking trails.
Levi swam faster, abandoning his steady pace as his heartbeat quickened. He was almost there. His mind and body were exhausted. He found himself inadvertently taking in gulps of water as he swam. Twice, he paused to have a coughing fit, his body desperately fighting the water that tried to enter his lungs.
Then his feet could touch the sandy bottom of Lake Huron’s shore. His body relaxed as he stood upright, his legs rubbery from the long swim. Levi began to cry as he saw a sign on the side of the pavilion.
Fort Gratiot Park, St. Clair County, Michigan.
Michigan. U.S.A. God, he’d never loved his country more. He vowed to never leave it again.
As the sun rose, Levi sank to his knees on the sandy shore. He wasn’t quite home, but it sure felt like it.
Chapter 36
Harrison County Sheriff’s Office
Corydon, Indiana
“I thought that went well last night,” began Billy Clark as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d just left the bank lawyer’s home, where he was forced to lay down the law, so to speak. The older man, like Billy’s sister, thought it was unconscionable that the bank would even consider foreclosing on its customers in light of the circumstances. Billy, in response, reminded the attorney there were a half dozen others just like him in Corydon who’d love to have the business the bank provided him. He also made a veiled reference to the attorney’s own mortgage, which was coming due right about Christmas, as Billy was sure to point out.
Randy leaned back in his office chair and chuckled, causing his belly to jostle. “I felt kinda bad after it was over. We led her right down the path to concluding what we needed her to.”
Billy carefully lowered himself into the wooden chair in front of his brother’s desk. He was always afraid the old wooden legs would give way under his weight. “Yeah. It was an asshole thing for us to do, but we needed it for cover.”