by Steven Bird
Arriving at the river’s edge, T. R. turned to make sure Jessie was behind him. With a nod, he then slipped quietly into the water with Jessie approximately ten yards behind.
Working their way downstream toward town, the riverbank transitioned from a mix of sandy stone and mud to thick, dense brush and vegetation that extended over the river’s edge and into the water, forcing both men further into the river, bringing the water level up to their chests. With the sense of touch alone to navigate river bottom below, T. R.’s right foot slipped into a hole, tripping him, forcing him to slide backward and underneath the water. As his body slid backward, feet-first downstream, the current swept him off his feet, taking him below. Disoriented by the darkness and the sudden fall, T. R. struggled to get solid footing in an attempt to slow his current-induced slide into the deeper center of the river.
Finally securing his footing, T. R. shoved off the river’s bottom with both feet, only to find that he was entangled in something. With panic now setting in, he released his grip on his rifle and began to feel around in the total darkness, to find a rope of some sort that had become tangled between his clothing and his holster. Yanking on it fiercely, but to no avail, he reached for his knife in a panicked attempt to cut himself free. In his disoriented and frightened state, he fumbled the knife, allowing the current to wash it free from his grip.
At the surface, Jessie had heard T. R. slip and fall beneath the water but was unable to see him in the absence of light. “Hey,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”
Hearing no response, Jessie tried his best to focus his eyes in the near total darkness. Hearing rustling off to his left in the brush along the side of the riverbank. Quickly bringing his rifle over his head, Jessie flipped the selector switch to the fire position and trained his barrel on the source of the noise.
Realizing that the noise was not a human threat, Jessie worked his way to it, following the sounds of the rustling branches until he felt a taut line that reached from beneath the water and was tied off to one of the thick branches of the brush. Feeling the force being applied to the line from underneath the water, Jessie quickly drew his knife and slashed at the rope, immediately cutting it, releasing the tension.
Beneath the water, as T. R.’s desperate attempts to free himself had all failed and he was unable to hold his breath any longer, he released the air held within his lungs and began to choke as he felt the tension in the line release and go slack. Moving again with the current, the line pulled against him, still snagged to his holster, causing the current to wash him to the far side of the river where the rope was still secured.
Pushing toward the surface with all of his might, his head emerged as he began immediately gasping for air and coughing violently. Crawling up onto the rocky and sandy shore on the far side of the river, T. R. vomited profusely, pumping water from his stomach and clearing his throat. “Damn it to hell,” he mumbled while coughing hoarsely.
Hearing a whistle from the far side of the river, he muttered, “Okay... I’m... I’m okay.”
Feeling around his holster, T. R. snagged something sharp with his hand, puncturing his skin. “Damn it,” he said aloud as he winced in pain, quickly pulling back his hand. Feeling around slowly, he felt fishhooks and said, “It’s a damn trotline. Crap. I was almost killed by a damn trotline. Get it together!” he said as if scolding himself.
From the far side of the riverbank, T. R. could hear Jessie faintly saying, “Report.”
“I’m okay,” he answered. “It’s too deep here to swim across with all this gear. I’ll stay on this side of the river for a while until it shallows out again, then I’ll cross back over.”
“Roger that,” Jessie replied.
Once T. R. had successfully worked the fishhook lose from his holster, the two once again began working their way downstream toward town.
~~~~
Approximately a mile downstream from the site of T. R.’s close call, the river widened and provided suitable shallows with several gravel bars, allowing T. R. to cross.
Meeting back up with Jessie, T. R. said, “Around the next bend is the railroad bridge that spans the river. That’s one of the points where there is likely a lookout, or at a minimum, a regular patrol. We need to get out of the water here and head off in that direction,” he said as he pointed toward the east. “There are several dry washes between here and town that are full of brush and trees. They fill with water when the water level in the river is high. They should be dry now, but we can use them as cover as we work our way into town.”
Patting T. R. on the shoulder, Jessie said, “Lead the way.”
Chapter Seventeen
Following T. R., approximately twenty yards in trail, Jessie saw him give the hold signal as they approached the outskirts of town. With a few of the buildings having operational electric lights, Jessie listened for the sound of a generator, knowing that the city could not be on the previously existing regional electrical grid that had been severely damaged as a target of the attacks.
Seeing T. R. motion for him to continue, Jessie joined up with him to survey the area ahead.
“That’s Sunnyside Avenue,” T. R. whispered as he pointed.
Seeing a vehicle’s headlights come around the corner of a building off in the distance, he signaled for Jessie to get down and whispered softly, “They should pass on by. Just hold tight until I say. I would assume this is a routine patrol. This is one of the standard routes. They come down Rice Avenue, and then make a turn to Sunnyside, then Dunn, and on to West Sumner Avenue. From there, they follow the perimeter of town. After they pass, we’ll make our move toward Jack’s home, which is just two blocks up from Sunnyside Avenue.”
Nodding in reply, Jessie watched as the patrol approached their position. Thoughts raced through his mind about the man he had teamed up with for this dangerous and potentially deadly undertaking. Could he be trusted? As he reached down and placed his hand on his knife, he thought to himself, All he would have to do is simply stand up and wave his buddies over to us. Then, he could come up with some bullshit story about how he led me here, to get his butt out of the bind he’s found himself in. If this son-of-a-bitch so much as flinches when they get close, I’ll take him out.
Slowing and scanning the area with their spotlight, the men in the desert tan-painted SUV pulled to a stop only twenty yards from Jessie and T. R.’s position, placing the vehicle in park, but keeping the engine running.
As the passenger door opened and one of the men, dressed in the same tactical gear as T. R., stepped out of the vehicle, Jessie began to draw his knife from his sheath as T. R. looked back at Jessie, his eyes darting down to Jessie’s hand.
Turning back to the threat in front of them, T. R. slowly lifted his rifle into a ready position, with his muzzle pointed at the man exiting the vehicle.
After a moment, the man turned and said something to his partner, which was unintelligible to Jessie and T. R., prompting the driver of the vehicle to exit as well. Here we go, Jessie thought as he removed his hand from his knife and raised his rifle in preparation for what he assumed would come next. This sure didn’t take long.
Walking over to his partner, the driver of the vehicle reached into his pocket, removing a pack of cigarettes, handing one to the other man. Jessie watched as the two casually leaned back against the vehicle, seemingly enjoying their smoke break. I wonder where those bastards got their smokes, he thought. From an unsuspecting traveler, no doubt.
After several tense moments, watching and waiting, the men got back in their vehicle and drove away, scanning with their searchlight as they went. Moving on up to T. R., Jessie said, “You have no idea how bad I wanted to smoke those bastards.”
“It looked to me like I was on your list as well,” T. R. replied, glancing down at Jessie’s knife.
“You would have been if I was given a good enough reason,” Jessie replied. “So far so good, though. Enough chatting. Let’s get moving. What’s the plan?”
“Jack
’s place is just a few blocks up, like I said. That’s about as far as my plan goes. I’m really not sure how to approach the situation. It’s not like we can just walk up and knock on his door. There are too many eyes in this town. There are a lot of good people here, but there are a few that act as Peronne’s eyes and ears in exchange for a little extra protection or favor.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Jessie replied. “Let’s just get there.”
With a nod, T. R. signaled for Jessie to hold his position as he made his move across Sumner Avenue, continuing until he could take visual cover behind a section of fence on the far side of the road. Jessie watched as T. R. signaled him to join him on the other side. Looking around carefully, Jessie emerged from a small cluster of trees and began to quickly cross the street as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, off to his left flank. Turning toward the potential threat, Jessie rocked his AR-10 forty-five degrees to the side, looking through his offset backup iron sites. Flipping the selector switch on his rifle from safe to semi-auto, his sights settled on the movement as his finger twitched and his heart raced.
“Ah, damn it. Stupid cat!” he whispered aloud to himself as he watched a housecat dart off into the shadows.
Reaching T. R.’s position, T. R. greeted him with a chuckle, saying quietly, “Was the cat on your list, too?”
“My list is subject to change at a second’s notice,” Jessie replied.
“So, anyway,” T. R. continued, “Jack’s house is on the corner of Richards and Sharp Street, right across from Saint Anthony’s. Saint Anthony’s is the building with its exterior lights on, up the street and on the right.”
“Is that a church?” Jessie asked.
“Yeah,” replied T. R. “Peronne provides them with electricity from the generators that power the critical facilities in town. It’s one of his good deeds to appease the residents. That, and to not make it such a big deal that he supplies electricity from the city’s emergency power to his own home—for security reasons, of course.”
“Of course,” Jessie replied, returning the sarcastic sentiment.
Pointing to the south-facing fence surrounding Jack’s home, T. R. said, “With the light from the church on the north side, our best bet is to enter Jack’s yard from the south-side, and then work our way to the house in the darkness.”
Simply nodding in reply, T. R. and Jessie began edging their way from the fence alongside Sumner Avenue toward Jack McGuigan’s home, using a tactical bound, providing cover for each other as they went. Arriving at the six-foot-tall, wooden privacy fence running along the south-facing edge of Jack’s property, Jessie held his position, allowing T. R. to join up with him.
Tapping Jessie on the shoulder, T. R. whispered, “Keep an eye out while I look for a way in.”
With a nod, Jessie turned his attentions to their surroundings, while T. R. began checking the integrity of each of the fence boards until finding one that appeared looser than the rest. Pulling the bottom of the board free, he pulled out and upward, pulling at the nails that held the board at the top loose, but leaving them holding the board in place. Pulling on the board to the left of his now small access hole, finding it held tightly in place, T. R. moved to the board to its right, working it loose after a few good tugs.
As Jessie scanned the area, he looked to his left to check on T. R.’s status, only to see that he was gone, “What the...? Hey?” he whispered.
Poking his head through the hole in the fence, T. R. said, “Come on in. Just pull the boards back into place behind you.”
Following T. R.’s lead, Jessie squeezed his way through the small opening and into the backyard of the home. Pulling the board back into position, having never been removed from the upper nails holding it in place, he masked their entry point as best he could.
“I think you’d better lead the way from here,” T. R. sheepishly said. “I don’t think someone dressed like me, crawling around his home in the middle of the night, would go over very well.”
“I’d venture to guess that any man crawling around someone’s home in the middle of the night wouldn’t go over very well,” Jessie replied. “Besides, it’s not like I can put him at ease by telling him that someone who turned on him and his people sent me. Just go knock on the back door and talk to him like a man. Own up to it. Look him in the eye and tell him the truth. It’s the only way this is going to work.”
Nodding in agreement, T. R. said, “Okay. Well, keep an eye out. The patrols go by the church every so often.”
Slipping up to the home, T. R. raised his hand and began to knock on the door as he was startled by the sounds of a small dog barking feverishly on the other side of a window screen, just to the right of the back door.
Flinching from the unexpected bark, T. R. turned toward the sound, only to hear the door swing open, and to feel a blunt object strike him in the face, knocking him to the ground. Looking up, dazed and confused, he reached for his sidearm as he saw the butt of a pump shotgun being thrust down at his face by the very man he had come to see.
Just as the shotgun was about to make contact, Jessie tackled the man to the ground, saving T. R. from what would have been a violent blow to the face. “No!” Jessie said sternly through gritted teeth. “He’s here to talk. We’re here to talk... and get some help.”
Just then, the little dog came barreling out of the back door, pouncing on T. R., biting down on his vest and shaking side to side. Knocking the dog off him, they heard a woman’s voice yell, “Tyke! No! Don’t hurt him!”
Climbing to his knees, T. R. pushed the little dog away once more, shouting, “Get it off! Angela, get him off!”
“T. R.?” she queried, surprised that it was him.
“Yeah, it’s that treasonous son-of-a-bitch!” her father Jack shouted.
“Sir, calm down. He’s with me, and we’re here for a good reason. Hear us out. We need to get inside and work this out before Peronne’s men catch wind of what’s going on.”
“I don’t give a damn!” Jack shouted. “I’ll tell them you were breaking into our home in the middle of the night. You’re probably the bastard they’re looking for anyway.”
“Do you want them to see that you still have a gun in this house?” Jessie asked. “Isn’t that forbidden? What else will they find when they search your home because of it?”
“They’ll find Tyke, Dad. He’s right.”
Relaxing his struggle, Jack looked at T. R. and said, “I don’t want that son-of-a-bitch in my home.”
“It’s him or the rest of Peronne’s men. Your call,” Jessie said, making Jack’s choices clear.
Pausing for a moment to think things through, Jack reluctantly replied, “You’d better keep him out of my reach. I can’t make any promises as to what I’ll do if I get my hands on him.”
“I understand completely,” Jessie said as he got off the man and reached out with his hand to help him up.
Refusing the assistance with a defiant attitude, Jack stood up, dusted himself off, and said, “Get in the house, but keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jessie.
Picking up the dog, Angela said, “Hurry up, before they come,” as she hurried into the home.
Chapter Eighteen
Once inside the home, Jack shouted through the house, “Angela, get in here.”
Running into the room, carrying a lantern-style candle holder to light her way, she said, “I’m right here. I was just putting Tyke in the basement.
Handing her the shotgun, Jack said, “Keep an eye on them for a minute while I check the front.”
Taking the shotgun, Angela watched as her father went through the home, looking out of each of the windows as he went. Ducking around the corner for a moment, he reappeared with a 9mm Springfield XD pistol with a frame-mounted combination laser/flashlight.
“I don’t see any of their friends out there,” Jack said to Angela. “You got Tyke taken care of?”
“Yes, he’s
in the basement,” she replied.
Looking at both T. R. and Jessie with an icy-cold stare, he then said, “If you bring Peronne down on us, and she loses that dog, I’ll kill you both.”
Confused, Jessie said, “Loses the dog? What do you mean?”
“Do you not know anything?” Jack said with contempt in his voice. Motioning toward T. R. with his pistol, he added, “Ask your buddy here.”
Clearing his throat, T. R. sheepishly said, “Peronne has declared control over the food resources in town.”
“Like any good dictator,” Jessie interjected.
“Yeah, exactly,” T. R. replied. “Well, anyway, since he lays claim to control of redistribution of our food supplies, as well as just about everything else, he banned the ownership of non-agricultural animals. People can have chickens, sheep, cattle, goats, etc., but no dogs or cats. He says they don’t earn their keep, and we can’t afford the extra mouths to feed.”
“Right,” said Jack as he moved the kitchen curtain out of the way with the barrel of his pistol, again looking outside to scan the area. Lighting several extra candles to better illuminate the room, he added, “So like I said, if you bring Peronne down on us, and they take her dog, Tyke, they’ll kill him, and for that, I’ll kill you. That dog is a member of this family and I will treat his loss as such. Do you understand me?” he said with a clenched jaw, waving the pistol back and forth between the two men. “I know who this traitor is, but who are you?” Jack asked Jessie.
“My name is Jessie Townsend. Before it all went down, I was the sheriff of Montezuma County in Colorado. To save you the details, after the collapse, I lost everything—my wife, children, everything. I was on my way east to find my sister. She’s all I have left in this world. Or, at least, I hope I still have her.”
Pausing momentarily, thinking of his sister, Jessie snapped back into the moment, saying, “Anyway, as I was passing through the area, I worked my way around to the north in order to avoid the town and any threats it may contain. When I got to the Red Lake area, I came across what appeared to have been an ambush. It was recent, as in the evening before, with the bodies of the victims still strewn about. One of the vehicles contained signs that the victims had been traveling with small children.”