by A. American
So, there was nothing special about the Gheenoe coming down the river towards us. We were anchored parallel to the river and as the small boat came abreast of us, it suddenly started to buck, rock and convulse in the water. Now, this all happened in seconds, but it was like it took place in slow motion.
When the boat started its acrobatics, the woman sitting in the front of the boat with her feet up, relaxing in the sun, gripped the gunnels and started to scream at the man in the back of the boat, “knock that shit off!”
Well, the poor bastard sitting in the stern of the boat had his hands full, literally, with the small Mercury outboard, that had until that very moment been attached to the stern. It was now free of the boat and the only thing keeping it from sinking to the bottom of the river was the fact that he had ahold of it, by the throttle. And it was twisted wide-ass open. It was like he had a giant weed-eater stuck in the water as it splashed and threw up geysers of water.
As the boat started to buck and rock, his lady friend began to scream at him as she held on for dear life. The struggle with the motor only lasted a few seconds though. After it made a couple of revolutions, coming completely out of the water in doing so, and assaulting our ears with the exhaust that was no longer muffled, everything went silent.
Now, up to this point I’d sat in complete shock at what I was witnessing. But when everything fell silent, the poor bastard stood there looking at the rising bubbles where his outboard had disappeared. His brand new outboard. Because, while the sound of the motor and the thrashing were gone, his lady friend’s complaints were not.
Finally, he shouted, “Bitch! Shut the fuck up!” Which, upon reflection was a little harsh. But at the moment, caused me to erupt into laughter, which he surely heard as we were only yards apart. Then he looked back at the bubbles and said, “It’s gone! It’s fucking gone! It’s brand fucking new!”
Of course, this only added to the laughter I was already experiencing, and I felt bad about it. Not bad enough to stop laughing, but bad enough to try and hide in the bottom of the boat. With his boat out of power, he made his lady friend move to the rear and he went to the bow where he dropped the trolling motor in. The current was sufficient enough that all it did was hold him in place, neither allowing him to go forward or to drift back against the current.
Now, I was still laughing. I mean, uncontrollable hysterical laughing as I lay rolling in the bottom of the boat. My dad called out to the man, “You need a hand?”
The man looked around for a second before replying, “Well dammit, I guess I need something!”
So, I had to get up and try and get my laughter under control, so I could look the man in the eye and offer some help. We pulled our anchors and moved out to where his stricken craft sat lazily in the current. Dad tossed him a line that he tied off and we pulled him across the river to Hontoon Landing. After wishing him luck, we went back across the channel and assumed our previous position. Where we could still watch the show of course.
I can remember that day like it was yesterday. And as I steered us into the cut past Hontoon that led to Lake Beresford, I realized I was smiling. I hadn’t thought much about Mom and Dad. There was just so much that always needed tending to. It seemed everyday there was a new crisis that demanded all available focus. But that was all gone now, I hoped. And it was time for me to do what I should have done long ago. Go find them and bring them home with me.
We saw a few people fishing or tending nets from the seawall that lined the little community along the river here. They waved, in the way everyone on the water does in acknowledgement of an unspoken kinship. Like bikers always do. It’s always struck me as interesting that this only occurs in a few places. Naturally, bikers always do it. But, so do people driving on country roads. I’ve been all over this land and people in Wyoming and Utah do it just like people here in Lake County. And of course, people on the water. I think if more people did it, we’d be better off for it.
We were only on the lake for a few minutes and were entering the channel leaving the lake when Sarge called for me to slow down. I instinctively started scanning the not too distant shore but didn’t see anything. When I looked back to him to ask what was up, he was unscrewing the top of his thermos.
“Really? You’re stopping us so you can pour a cup of coffee?” I asked.
He waited until his cup was full and the lid back on the insulated bottle to answer. Holding the cup out, he said, “You have any idea how valuable this cup of coffee is here, in this place? There isn’t another cup for thousands of miles I’d guess. So, you’re damn straight I made you slow down so I didn’t spill any!”
“You done now? Can we continue?”
He stretched back out in his seat and replied, “If you’re waiting on me, you’re backing up. If you’d close that face hole, we’d be moving already.”
I shook my head and gunned the throttle. About the time he was adjusted to the G force of the acceleration, I immediately let off, causing him to rock forward. Then I gunned it again. I smiled when some of his precious coffee sloshed from the cup onto his hand. He looked back, glaring at me. I shrugged and said, “Weeds in the prop.”
Licking the coffee from his hand, he replied, “Better not be no more fucking weeds!”
Once I had us moving again, Danny looked back with a huge smile on his face and gave me the thumbs up. I grinned and nodded my reply. The ride down the channel leaving the lake was on smooth water. The sun was coming up and it made for a beautiful scene. This part of the river was totally uninhabited, and it was like stepping back in time. The river here looked just as it would have to native tribes that lived along its banks centuries ago. And we were approaching an area where they were known to have once lived.
Blue Springs State Park was just ahead. Its crystal-clear waters dumped into the tannin-stained waters of the river to make its way up to Jacksonville and into the Atlantic. The St Johns is one of only a couple of rivers in the world that flow from south to north as it slowly courses its way up the Florida peninsula.
Ordinarily, you couldn’t take your boat up to the spring. But these weren’t ordinary times. As Blue Springs Run came up, I asked, “You guys want to ride up into Blue Springs?”
Danny gave an enthusiastic nod. The old man just shrugged and sipped his coffee. I decided we’d go up and check out the spring and steered the boat into the small run. The water went from the dark brown the river was known for to crystal clear at a near perfect line. I slowed the boat and we cruised lazily up the narrow waterway.
The park was still there and there was plenty of evidence of people having been there since the Day. There was a campground and I wondered if anyone was living back there. We made it to the spring, as close as we could get anyway, without seeing a soul. Letting the boat idle, I reached down and scooped up a handful of water. It was cold, and I splashed it on my neck.
“Man, I’d love to go for a swim,” Danny said.
“It’d be nice,” I replied.
“We ain’t got time for that shit. This ain’t no pleasure cruise,” Sarge barked back.
“Keep your Depends on. No one said we were going for a swim, just that it would be nice,” I shot back.
“Get this damn thing turned around. We’ve done enough sightseeing.”
Danny looked over his shoulder and asked, “Tell me again; why did we bring him?”
“Because I said so!” The old man hollered.
“I have no idea,” I replied to Danny.
But I turned the boat around and we headed back down the run towards the river. As we motored slowly along, I said, “Damn, it would be nice to live here. To have this to yourself.”
“Yeah it would. I’d never be inside. I’d spend all day lying in that spring,” Danny said.
“I wonder if anyone is living in the Thursby house,” I said, giving voice to my thoughts.
“It’d be a good place. They still have the wood cookstove in the kitchen. It was built to live in without electricity,” Dan
ny replied.
The house, a three-story wood-frame structure, was built in the late 1800s and added to in the early 1900s. It was the site of one of the first steamboat landings on the river. It would be the perfect place to live now. Located here at the spring, you’d have everything one could need.
“I’m betting someone is,” I said.
As the small bluff the house occupied came into view, I saw a man standing in the trees, looking out at us.
“Contact on the left!” I shouted.
Sarge immediately turned to the left as he picked up the Minimi. I waved to the man, but he didn’t wave back. Instead, he raised his rifle. Panic filled me as we were just idling along. I cried out, “Shit!” As I gunned the throttle. Sarge must have seen the man too, because at that same moment, he opened up with the machine gun and was thrown off balance by the sudden acceleration. Fountains of water erupted where bullets cut into it, then they were ripping limbs and leaves from the trees on the shore. But he got himself steadied and continued to pour fire into the trees on the side of the run as we made our escape.
We were almost into the river again, when I heard the very distinct sound of the Russian grenade launch pop. Danny had picked it up and fired a grenade, which landed in the trees out of sight. He quickly pushed another into the small tube and adjusted his fire and launched it. This one hit at the river’s edge, sending water and mud flying into the air.
“Stop shooting!” Sarge shouted as I turned out into the river. “They ain’t shooting back and we’re too far away now.”
“Did that asshole ever get a shot off?” I asked.
Sarge nodded, “Yeah, one I think,” he replied with a laugh. “I don’t think he was expecting the Minimi.”
“Or the grenades,” Danny added.
“I bet that woke his ass up,” I replied.
Sarge was laughing. “Wish I could have heard what was going through his mind!”
“He probably shit himself,” Danny added.
The idea got me to laughing, “Yeah, he probably said it, then did it.”
Sarge acted it out from his seat up front. Miming raising a weapon, then ducking while shouting, Shit! Then getting a disgusted look on his face as he patted the seat of his pants. “Ma!” He shouted. “I did it again!” It had all of us laughing by the time he finished the charade.
We quickly passed Goat Island and Flowers Island. As we approached Guava Island, I shouted, “Fort Florida is coming up on the left. Keep an eye out.”
Up to this point we hadn’t seen any other boats. But the sun was fully up now, and we were entering a section of the river that was more populated. At Guava Island, we passed the Wekiva River where it emptied into the St Johns after flowing for many miles from its spring near Apopka. As a kid, I spent a lot of time in that spring. Diving into the spring and swimming against the incredible current to get to the bottom to scoop up sand was a common pastime there.
The sand would be brought up and searched through for shark’s teeth. And in nearly every scoop that came up, there would be teeth in it. It was amazing to think about how they got down there that deep. The power of the spring was forever pushing more up. It was also a great place to look for money! And as a kid, I always took a swim mask with me for just this purpose. Wallets were also not uncommon finds in the swimming area, as were shoes and other swim masks. It was a great place to be a kid in the summer and Mom had taken me there often.
As we rounded a bend, the small community of Fort Florida came into view. Here, there were houses on the river’s edge and nearly all of them had a small dock of one sort or another. But what caught our eye were the small boats out in the river. Several small boats, Jon boats and canoes, were out in the middle of the river working a large gill net. As soon as we rounded the bend, the sound of the motor got everyone’s attention and they were looking at us.
The old man raised the Minimi and Danny shouldered the AK with the launcher. But the people in the boats just stared in apparent amazement as we drew nearer. I’d slowed the boat, in case we needed to beat a hasty retreat. All of the men working the nets were shirtless and in shorts. Their skin was dark, and it was obvious they spent a lot time on the water.
I slowed further as we approached them. Their net was strung all the way across the river. Not seeing any weapons on any of them, Sarge waved and called out, “How’s the fishing?”
A man in a Jon boat had the net laid on the deck as a younger man pulled the catch from it. They were pulling themselves along it, bringing it up over the boat as they worked down its length. Others were doing the same on different sections. The man waved back and said, “Pretty good,” and looked around before asking, “Who the hell are you?”
I eased the boat towards him and Sarge replied, “Nobody. Just out to find some folks.”
The man looked suspiciously at the machine gun Sarge held. “I’m glad you’re not looking for me. Where did you get hardware like that? You in the Army or something?”
“Something like that. Can we slide over the top of this thing? I don’t want to damage your net.”
The man pointed at a section of the net lying in the water with only the small foam floats visible. “You can come over it there. Just raise that motor when you get to it.” Then, as though the realization just came to him, he asked, “Where the hell did you get gas?”
“Like I said, we’re something like the Army,” Sarge replied.
Then the man pointed at me and asked, “You a deputy sheriff?”
I looked down at the star before replying, “Something like that.”
“Something like that?” The man asked rhetorically. “Is that all you guys have to say? Is there help coming or something?”
“Not any time soon,” Sarge replied. “You folks look like you’re doing alright.”
The man looked down at the deck of the small boat and the fish lying there. “I guess.” Then he looked back at Sarge, “But I’m getting damn tired of eating fish.”
“Maybe so. But if you didn’t have them, you’d be thankful to get them. There are still a lot of people out there starving.”
“I reckon so,” the man replied. “Where are you guys from?”
“Altoona,” I replied.
“Altoona! How the hell did you get here?”
Thad was loading some gear into the little red truck to head to town when some of the guys walked up.
“You going to go help with that beef for town?” Perez asked.
“Yeah. I’m gonna meet Cecil.”
“I’ll come help.”
“What the hell does a Mezcan know about butchering cattle?” Mike asked with a laugh.
“I’m not Mexican, blanquito gusano.”
Mike looked at Ted, “Means little white worm,” Ted said.
Mike nodded, “Whatever. I forgot the PR was the Caribbean cattle capital.”
“Actually, Puerto Rico has a lot of cattle. It’s a major producer of dairy and beef. My dad owned a butcher shop when I was a kid and I learned how to cut working for him.”
“We could really use your help then,” Thad said. “We’ve got two cows to cut up and get smoked. Gonna be a lot of work.”
“No problem. Let’s go.”
“What about us?” Mike asked.
“What about you?” Perez replied.
“You need our help?”
Ted slapped Mike’s arm. “We can’t. We have something else to do.”
With genuine curiosity, Mike asked, “What?”
Ted shook his head and wiped his face. “Come on. I’ll fill you in.”
“I don’t remember anything. What do we have to do?”
Frustrated, Ted pulled Mike over and whispered in his ear. A smile spread over Mike’s face and he blurted out, “Hell yeah!” Then he looked at Perez and said, “I forgot about this. Sorry, you boys are on your own.”
Thad eyed the two suspiciously. “What have you two got to do that’s so important?”
As Mike and Ted turned to leave, Mi
ke waved the question off. “Nothing you need to worry about. We’ll take care of it.”
As they walked away, Perez said, “They’ve got shit to do. Those fuckers are up to no good.”
Thad laughed. “Probably, but I’d rather not be around it when it happens.”
Perez lit a cigarette and pointed at Thad with it, “Good point, amigo.”
Perez tossed his gear into the bed of the truck and the two got in and headed for town. As they were driving towards the county road, they passed Jess and Doc. Jess waved and Thad stopped. Leaning on the top of the door, Jess asked, “What are you two up to?”
“Going to town to help with the beef Dave is giving them,” Thad replied.
“Hey,” Doc said, “can we come with you? I can go check in at the clinic and help out for a while.”
“Sure, hop in.”
Jess and Doc walked around to the back of the truck and climbed up into the bed. As they were sitting down, Jess said, “I’m not going back in there. I’ll help with the beef.”
Doc smiled as the truck started to move. “No problem. You help them with the beef.”
She nodded, “I don’t mind seeing animals cut up. How do you get used to seeing people in that condition?”
“You just get used to it. It’s a problem and I approach it like one. What do I have to do to keep this person alive? Wounds are just defects that give me an idea of what’s going on inside. You just address the issues in order and work your way down.”
Jess shivered, “I still don’t like it.”
“Inside of a person is like the inside of any other animal. We’re all made from the same shit for the most part.”
“Yeah, well maybe. But I don’t eat people.”
Doc laughed, “Not yet.”
Jess slapped his arm, “Not ever!”
They found Cecil at the school. The center of activity in Eustis had moved away from the lake and downtown out to the school. That’s where the wounded were and that’s where most people moved to after the rocket attack. No one wanted to be near downtown where the reminders of that day were everywhere.