Moon Underfoot

by Cole, Bobby

  Moon Pie lit some thatch from the dam and dropped it into the pipe. It was relatively clean deep down to just about where it made its bend. He held the cigarette in his lips as he stuffed Jake’s feet into the pipe. He then grabbed him under the arms and strained to lift him to the edge of the metal pipe.

  Moon Pie, his side burning from the strain, held Jake above the narrow abyss and in a singsong voice said, “One is for Johnny Lee, two is for Reese, and three is for me…asshole!” Then he let go.

  The grotesque sound Jake made when he hit the mud and debris at the bottom made Moon Pie double over laughing. He then started pulling mud and sticks from around the pipe, allowing water to start flowing in. The more he tore out, the more the water helped as the cold swamp sought to level itself through the pipe. Moon Pie stopped to watch the water flowing and realized that he was hurt much worse than he had originally thought. As badly as Moon Pie wanted to stay to hear Jake’s dying screams, he realized that he needed medical attention or he was going to die too.

  Moon Pie leaned over the pipe and yelled, “See ya in hell, Jake Crosby.”

  He chuckled as he sloshed toward the truck.

  CHAPTER 105

  MORGAN WATCHED THE West Point police chief and two uniformed officers walk to their patrol cars. They had been at her house for almost two hours. She had given them all the information about Jake she could think of. One of the officers said he was going to spend the night parked in front of her house. Morgan was very grateful. The police chief put out a statewide alert for Jake Crosby and his vehicle.

  The officer who was going to pull guard duty turned around and said, “Mrs. Crosby, please leave all of your outside lights on.” He said something to the two officers she couldn’t understand and then turned back to her and said, “I promise I’ll call if I see or hear anything. Go ahead and lock up now.”

  As soon as Morgan closed the door, the house telephone rang. It was one of Jake’s coworkers. He was just one of several who had called. Jake’s boss had called twice to check on her and Katy and to see if Jake had made it home. Their friends and family were concerned because it was very uncharacteristic of Jake to leave without telling Morgan or someone else. Every law enforcement agency in the Golden Triangle area was looking for Jake and his truck.

  When Morgan hung up the call, she could hear Katy crying. She went straight to her and tried to console her. Katy had heard everything she and the police had discussed. Katy’s memories of that terrifying night in the swamp came flooding back. The fear. The screams. The gunshots. Katy Crosby was scared for her daddy, and nothing her mother said or did could help that.

  When Katy had finally cried herself to sleep, Morgan quietly left her side. It was heartbreaking to see her little girl so upset. Morgan knew she had to be strong for Katy and that if she also cried, Katy would fall to pieces. Morgan shut Katy’s bedroom door and then walked to the front of the house and stood with her arms folded, staring out at the dark, cold night. She could feel in her bones that something bad had happened to Jake. He would never leave work without telling her, and he most certainly would never stay out this late without calling. He’d call if he could. If he could. The thought of it sent a chill down her spine.

  Morgan touched her belly and wished she could feel the tiny baby inside—Jake’s baby. Her lip trembled at the notion of raising the baby without him. Lord, I want my baby to know its father. It’s a simple request.

  She was frightened but was also getting angry—at everybody, including Jake. This was not the life she had envisioned. She wanted normal.

  The headlights of the approaching car gave her a flash of hope, but when she saw that it was the police chief, her chest tightened. She just knew it had to be bad news. She could not fight back the tears anymore. The chief parked his sedan and gave a quick wave to the young officer in the patrol car. He trotted toward the house. Morgan felt like she was living a movie, watching herself on-screen—like it wasn’t really happening to her. She saw herself open the front door.

  “Morgan, you heard anything?” he asked.

  Thank God—he’s not here to tell me Jake’s dead, she thought, but she just said, “No, nothing. Have y’all?”

  “No ma’am, not yet, but I’ve got everybody lookin’.”

  Morgan smiled weakly to show her thanks and folded her arms again. The police chief could see she’d been crying, but he needed to clarify some things. People under stress often forgot the simplest things, and talking could jog their memories.

  “May I trouble you for a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  Morgan looked at him gratefully. She really liked him. He was a pillar in the community, a deacon in their church, and a friend of Jake’s. She could see that he, too, was upset. He just hid his feelings better than she did.

  “Yeah, sure, come on in, please,” she said, realizing she was glad to have something to do.

  “Thank you. Morgan, have you thought of anything else since I left that might help us? Anything?”

  “No, and he still isn’t answering his cell.”

  “We’ve still not been able to locate Ethan Daniels.”

  Morgan stopped pouring the coffee when she heard that. It sounded serious to her that they couldn’t find him.

  “Do you actually know this guy?”

  “I arrested him once…years ago. He’s probably the best poacher around. He’s gotten into drug running for the money. Kinda took over the business, so to speak, from that first guy Jake had to kill over in Alabama.”

  Morgan finished pouring the coffee and handed the cup to the chief.

  “Thank you. He was picked up over the weekend on an unrelated charge but got out Monday morning. The Columbus PD is all over his lawyer and his known associates right now. We’ll find him.”

  “I feel like I need to be out lookin’ for Jake—that I need to be doin’ something to help.” Morgan bit her bottom lip to keep from crying.

  “Morgan, listen to me. You’re doin’ exactly what you need to be doin’. I need you here, by the phone; and Katy needs you to be here with her.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Listen, we have every available officer riding roads right now. We’re tryin’ to cover as much ground as possible because the weather’s about to get really bad. They’re callin’ for several inches of rain.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s gonna hinder the off-road searches when it gets daylight. I need to go back and help the boys.” The chief stood, looked directly into Morgan’s eyes, and said, “Please, Morgan, just stay here…and call me if anything happens. Okay?”

  “I will.”

  The chief took a big sip of coffee and then gently set down the mug.

  “We’re gonna have another baby,” she blurted, smiling tearfully.

  “I didn’t know that. Congratulations.”

  “We haven’t told anyone, and I…I just thought you ought to know. Jake wouldn’t just leave me.”

  “I know that, Morgan, and we’re gonna find him. I promise you.”

  CHAPTER 106

  THE FRIGID WATER pouring over Jake woke him. Both his legs were burning, as if they were on fire. Dazed from the electrical shocks and disorientated by the circumstances, he took a few moments to realize what had happened to him. It was inky black around him; but, when he looked up, he could distinguish the night sky.

  Though the pipe wasn’t flooding yet, Jake could not move his legs. Pain shot through them when he tried to stand. He surmised they must be broken. He could tell that his ankles were still zip-tied.

  The air reeked of rotten bottomland mud. The top of the pipe appeared to be about six or seven feet away, and the walls were slick with algae. It was the flowing water that really concerned him. He had no way out, and stifling his growing panic was his most immediate challenge. His face was against the pipe wall, and his shoulders had only a few inches of room. with: He considered bouncing, to force his way out though the lower end of the pipe, but he was st
uck too deep in the mud, and there wasn’t enough water flowing though to break the below obstruction of silt and beaver limbs.

  Jake’s coffin was to be long, cylindrical, and rusty.

  After several deep breaths, Jake remembered his cell phone. His wrists were still zip-tied together, but painfully and slowly, he contorted his arms until he pulled it from his pocket. He mashed the center key, and the screen glowed. It showed forty-one missed calls and eleven texts. He smiled as he recalled putting it on silent before he slipped up on Moon Pie’s trailer. Most of the missed calls and texts were from Morgan. His hands shook as he tried to click on her name to redial. On the third try, the phone dialed, but the call immediately failed. Jake noticed that he didn’t have service.

  The phone started getting wet from the water splashing down around it, so he leaned forward a few inches to shield it so he could read Morgan’s first text, at 4:43: “Can u get some bread on the way home?”

  “I wish I could, babe,” he said out loud and then smiled.

  He read the rest of his messages.

  5:35: “Where are you?”

  6:01: “Did you go hunting?”

  6:20: “Jake I’m worried Call me.”

  6:33: “Richard Pharr at ur office said u never came back from lunch Where r u?”

  6:51: “I called the police Please call or text!!”

  7:02: “Jake I love u! Call me”

  7:07: “Dad when r u coming home ☺”

  Jake choked up. His missed his family. The more texts he read, the more upset he became. The water falling over him was relentless. He couldn’t imagine that waterboarding was worse than what he was experiencing. He would confess to anything to get out of this pipe. Jake did his best to wipe the moisture from the phone, and with great effort, he placed it into his right pocket. He felt it hit something and remembered the flashlight. As Jake pushed himself against the left side of the pipe, intense, fiery pain shot from his left leg, almost making him black out. What the hell happened? Somethin’ ain’t right, he thought as he struggled to catch his breath.

  Careful not to apply pressure on his left leg, he reached slowly down into his pocket for the flashlight. His mind was working faster than his muscles, and he assumed that was caused by all the electrical jolts. He was shaking from the cold and the pain, but the flashlight in his hands was comforting…until he clicked it on and could now clearly see that he was in a death trap.

  The steady flow of cold swamp water was growing stronger. Vapor from his heaving breathing filled the pipe. The outside temperature was in the low forties. That and the cold water were taking their toll on Jake’s body. He considered that hypothermia might kill him before drowning did.

  Jake knew that he had to get the water flowing out of the pipe so the rising level didn’t overtake him. His right leg would barely move but it didn’t hurt like his left. He tried to push down with his legs to clear some of the mud and limbs, but it was no use. At least the water backing up was beginning to numb the pain in his legs. He tried to see his left leg with the flashlight, but the beam couldn’t penetrate the muddy water. He noticed that every movement he made stirred more silt, so he remained still to let the dirt settle enough so he could see.

  Standing motionless and looking up, Jake tried not to think that this would be how and where he died, never to be found. Moon Pie—that son of a bitch—is gonna win. Jake shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but he was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

  The water in the bottom of the pipe had cleared somewhat. With his left hand, Jake lowered the flashlight, shining it down into the water. He could see his blood flowing like spilled red ink. Apparently a bark-skinned stick had impaled his leg. Jake looked up, took a deep breath, exhaled, and contemplated trying to pull it out. He looked down, shined the light again to get a better assessment and then realized that it was not a limb sticking into his leg but his exposed bone protruding through his pants.

  Jake’s head fell forward, hitting the pipe with a thud, as everything went dark.

  CHAPTER 107

  SHAKING HIS HEAD, Moon Pie was having difficulty focusing his eyes as he drove. Blurred vision and bouts of confusion were making the drive out of the dark woods even extremely difficult. Grimacing in pain, he touched his side and saw that his hand was covered in blood. He knew that he needed to get to the ER, but being gunshot was going to necessitate police involvement, and that would be a problem he didn’t know how to solve. He sped up, grabbed his cell phone, and tried to remember Levi’s number, but his mind went blank. As he began searching his cell phone’s address book, he glanced up to see that he was running off the side of the old dirt road. His instinctive reaction was to punch the gas. The truck dug down in the mud and slung rooster tails. The limbs from an oak tree scratched down the side of Jake’s truck, causing Moon Pie to laugh deliriously, missing the turn that led to the highway.

  After another mile, the river cane became more prevalent, and Moon Pie realized that he had missed his turn. He was now closer to the river and deeper into the swamp. The road had become muddier, and Moon Pie was in danger of getting stuck. He stopped on a dry spot and turned on the windshield wipers, smearing mud. “Son of a bitch!”

  Moon Pie looked around inside the truck for something to wipe the windshield. The only thing he found was Jake’s corduroy sport coat. He smiled at that and enjoyed the thought of Jake struggling inside the muddy drainpipe, waiting to die.

  While Moon Pie was wiping the mud-spattered windshield, his knees buckled, and he barely caught himself before hitting the ground. Shit! I gotta get the hell outta here!

  He climbed back into the truck and looked for a place to turn around but didn’t find one. Beginning to panic, Moon Pie reversed the truck, plowing through bushes and small trees. He dropped the gearshift into drive and stood on the accelerator, causing the truck to fishtail out of the muddy ditch.

  As he raced down the muddy road, he tried to think of something to tell the hospital that wouldn’t raise too many suspicions. He knew that going to the hospital was a huge risk, but he couldn’t think of an alternative. He was about to bleed out, and he knew it. He drove faster, screaming, cussing, and pounding the steering wheel. This was not how he wanted to die…or get caught.

  CHAPTER 108

  THE COUNTY GAME warden was patrolling the back roads that night, looking for spotlighters. He had received a tip that some Louisiana boys, staying near Columbus, planned to poach wherever they could jump a fence or find a clean stretch of road. The warden was by himself, as usual. His wife had reminded him for the millionth time to be careful. Everyone he ran across, particularly at night, was armed and potentially involved in some illegal activity. As he drove, he monitored the various law enforcement agencies’ frequencies, in case he needed to help. His friendship with one of the locally stationed Mississippi troopers had really been helpful in covering his own back and backyard and was much appreciated. As a game warden, he encountered all sorts of riffraff these days, especially with meth labs popping up in old barns and outbuildings everywhere. Plus, the newest “shake and bake” method of manufacturing methamphetamine in a two-liter plastic bottle was a constant physical and psychological drain, since any seemingly benign situation could turn deadly in a breath.

  He had listened to all of the radio reports regarding Jake Crosby’s disappearance. He had first met Jake at a National Wild Turkey Federation banquet a few years back and had since checked him on a few dove shoots. Jake was a good guy, always polite and always legal. He wrote down the description and tag of Jake’s pickup, just in case.

  When his cell phone rang, he checked the caller ID and saw that it was the general from the Columbus Air Force Base. This guy was the most rabid duck hunter he had ever known. He’d lived on base for longer than the warden could remember, and the general considered the public hunting areas along the river to be his personal domain. During duck season, the general had his pilots buzz certain areas for daily duck reports. The warden was happy to answe
r the call.

  “Hello, General.”

  “Hey there, Warden. Sorry to be callin’ so late.”

  “Not a problem. What can I do for ya?”

  “At nineteen hundred I was bein’ flown back from a meeting. Our approach was low due to the ceilin’. At any rate, I clearly saw a truck with its lights on inside the Buttahatchee area.”

  The warden knew that no vehicles should be inside those locked gates. It was strictly a walk-in area. He also knew that the general was extremely concerned that poachers were wreaking havoc all over the area.

  “Are you sure the lights were on the inside of the gates? I mean…it’s dark and y’all woulda been flying pretty fast.”

  “Hell yes, they were inside. You know that pond that I call the Honey Hole, where I always kill so many pintails? That’s where the vehicle was. It wasn’t a four-wheeler either. The lights were too far apart and too bright. It was parked on the levee, pointing out on the water.”

  “It coulda been some Corps of Engineer boys workin’ late.”

  “No way. It was a civilian’s truck,” the general replied bluntly.

  “Okay, I’ll check it out.”

  “Duck season’s close, and I bet it was somebody baitin’ my hole.”

  The warden smiled. They were picking right up where they had left off last January.

  “You know that I don’t see much baitin’ on public areas, sir.”

  “They’re tryin’ to set me up.”

  The warden smiled, knowing that the general worried more about ducks than anything else. “I tell you what, I’ll call a Corps buddy of mine and find out if they are workin’ around there, and if not, I’ll drive by and take a look.”

  “Please let me know what you find out.”

  The warden was amazed at how clearly the general could see at night while riding in a Lear. Good military training, he thought.