Rivers to Blood

by Michael Lister

“But I still don’t see why they brought the pilot up,” he said.

  “Maybe they didn’t mean to,” I said. “He could have floated up out of the plane while they were in it. They could have staged the lynching as a way to cover what y’all had done.”

  He nodded.

  When we reached the landing I drove over to the search and rescue boat and Jake’s truck in the corner. There was no sign of anyone at the landing, though the vehicles of the deputies, FDLE agents, and game wardens searching for the bank robbers were scattered throughout.

  “But that might not be it at all,” I said. “Junior could still be in the plane.”

  “We need to find out,” he said, “but with the way my leg is, I don’t think I can dive.”

  “I can,” I said.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  “When’s the last time you dove?” he asked.

  I turned off the car and cut the lights but didn’t get out.

  I shrugged. “It’s been a while.”

  “How many times have you since you got certified?”

  Like most active people who lived near the Gulf of Mexico, I had taken a diving class and gotten certified as an open water diver. And though I really enjoyed diving—when my sinuses would let me do it pain free—I didn’t have a boat or a dive buddy, and hadn’t made much time for it in the two years since I had received my certification.

  “Not many,” I said.

  “You’re barely certified for open water,” he said. “Your only experience has been in the Gulf. Not only is this a night dive around wreckage, it’s in the river where visibility is usually near zero all the time anyway. There’s gators, strange currents, and quicksand. Plus you don’t have a partner.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I said. “As low as the river is, it can’t be very deep. And you’ll be right above me in the boat if I need help.”

  He shook his head. “Hell, no. I wouldn’t be any help if you needed it. No.”

  “Jake we don’t have a lot of options here. I’m trying to keep you out of prison.”

  He started to say something but stopped.

  “I believe that you didn’t have anything to do with the murders,” I said. “And I understand why you did what you did. If we involve others, none of that’s gonna matter.”

  Tears formed in his eyes again, and he blinked several times. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought if there was a chance to save her …”

  “I know,” I said. “You don’t want to be in jail during her final days, do you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Come on,” I said. “We need to get the boat launched and get out of here before the others come back.”

  As we neared the cross with Taylor’s name on it, I recalled Merrill and me seeing Todd, Shane, Fred, and Kenny in this same spot the day we saw Jensen and stumbled onto the SEALs.

  Had they gone back inside the plane or were they just making sure it still wasn’t visible?

  Jake cut the motor and let us drift into position. I took in a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out slowly.

  Those searching for the phantom bank robbers were several miles away. We appeared to be alone, though the loud nocturnal noises coming from the river swamps reminded us we weren’t.

  It was a dark night. There were no stars, and the half-moon, its reflection dancing on the black ripples of the river, provided little illumination. A light breeze blowing across the water and through the cypress, oak, and pine trees held in its comfortable currents the first hint of a North Florida fall.

  Jake helped me prepare the equipment and put it on, insisting that I wear a wetsuit—something I hadn’t done for my summer dives in the Gulf.

  “It’s not for temperature as much as protection.”

  The wetsuit was stiff and immobile and made it twice as difficult to put on the other equipment. It took a while to get ready and I began to become anxious about somebody discovering us.

  In addition to the normal equipment—BCD, tank, regulator, depth and pressure gauges, mask, fins—Jake insisted that I wear gloves, take a diving knife, and carry a large light.

  “Without the light you wouldn’t see anything at all,” he said. “With it you won’t see much. It’s going to be pitch black down there. Don’t freak out.”

  “How deep is the plane?” I asked.

  “Only fifteen feet,” he said. “But this fifteen is far more dangerous than a-hundred-and-fifty-foot dives in the Gulf. Try to stay off the bottom—it can suck you under and not let go. Watch for trash, debris from the plane, snakes, gators. And don’t go in the plane. Just look.”

  I gave him a mock salute and eased over to the edge of the boat, the extra weight and lack of mobility making it difficult. Sitting on the edge, I prepared to flip over backward into the dark water.

  “Try your regulator,” he said.

  “Not until I get in the water and wash it off,” I said. “Whose is it?”

  He shrugged. “Just an extra. I’m sure we’ve all used it one time or another.”

  “I was really hoping not to catch a bad case of redneck,” I said.

  “Fuck you, you big sissy.”

  I smiled.

  We fell silent a beat, and he said, “Moment of truth.”

  I nodded.

  “John.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sorry about all this,” he said. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me.”

  “Just be up here when I come back,” I said.

  “Just come back,” he said.

  I attempted to flip over backward, but only made it about halfway, my mask filling with water, my BC and tank twisting around, and the regulator getting knocked out of my hand.

  “Goddamn,” Jake said. “You’re gonna die.”

  I started laughing. When I could, I said, “Just give me a minute to get my sea legs.”

  “You’re in a fuckin’ river, Einstein.”

  I took a minute to get everything back in place, wash off the regulator, test it, then I gave him the okay sign and began my descent.

  Adjusting my buoyancy, I moved slowly down into the dark, wet underworld.

  Jake had been right. It was pitch-black and scary. I tried to remind myself to take long, slow breaths, but my slightly panicked breaths were erratic and shallow. If I didn’t get it under control soon, I was going to hyperventilate or drown.

  The light illuminated only a small area right in front of it and then was subsumed by the darkness.

  I had forgotten how strange the sounds were. All I could hear was the exaggerated sound of my breathing and the muffled echo liquidity of every sound.

  After just five feet or so, I reinflated my BC to stop my downward motion, and took a moment to try to equalize the pressure in my head and stop the pain in my sinus cavities and ears. After a brief while of pinching my nose and blowing, and slowing down my breathing, I was ready to continue.

  I deflated my BC and let the weight belt slowly pull me down, all the while trying not to think about what creatures were all around me, possibly preparing to strike.

  Eventually my feet touched down on the top of the plane, which wobbled and shifted in the sand as I came to rest.

  I inflated my BC enough to help me float and quickly took my weight off the plane.

  Swimming down beside it, I held the light close to it, which confirmed it was the plane I had seen a couple of weeks back. It even had a small Air Ads Inc. logo on the tail. Coming around to the cockpit, I attempted to look inside, but the light was too weak, the river too dark, and all I saw was the light’s reflection off the glass.

  I pulled myself over to the door by using the plane itself, which continued to shift and settle in the push and pull of the currents. The door was slightly ajar, moving back and forth as the plane did.

  I eased it open and leaned inside.

  It was a small plane, barely big enough for two adults, and whatever had been in it, including Junior himself, was now gone.

  I took
another few minutes to look around the area, but could see so little even directly in front of me that it made it a complete exercise in futility. Finally, I gave up, and began my slow ascent toward the top.

  Now that I was relaxed, I began to enjoy the dark, wet, womb-like embrace. As I floated I began to try to figure a way out for Jake that kept him out of prison and didn’t cost Dad the election. Instead, the confirmations and revelations I had received from Jake took shape, and several elements of the case fell into place for me, and I began to better understand the murders and their meanings.

  When I broke the surface of the river a minute or so later, Jake was gone.

  Chapter Fifty-six

  I pulled out the regulator, lifted the mask to the top of my head, and adjusted the BC so I could float and not have to tread water.

  Just as I was about to turn around to see if Jake had drifted or changed positions for some reason, a light came on behind me. As I turned toward it I was blinded, unable to see who was shining it at me.

  “We didn’t leave anything down there, did we?”

  I recognized the voice.

  It was Todd. No doubt Shane was with him, and I wondered who else might be.

  I closed my eyes, seeing spots as I did, and felt around behind me for the regulator hose. If I could pull the regulator toward me, deflate my BC, and stick the regulator in my mouth as I sank toward the bottom, I might be able to get away from them.

  Before I could find the hose, I heard a shell being racked into the chamber of a shotgun.

  “We want you stay up here with us,” Shane said. “No need to be unsociable.”

  “Sorry,” I said, without opening my eyes, “forgot my manners.”

  “Where’s that big pussy brother of yours?” Todd asked.

  “We know he brought you out here,” Shane said. “Where’d he go?”

  I attempted to shrug, but wasn’t able to move my shoulders enough for it to qualify. “I figured y’all had him.”

  “We don’t,” Shane said.

  Unless they were lying, and I couldn’t figure why they would, Jake either left for some reason or something happened to him—a very real possibility on the river these days.

  “I know how low an opinion of your brother you have,” Shane said, “but he wouldn’t just leave you down there. Hell, he’s the reason you’re still breathing. Been working his ass off trying to protect you and keep you out of all this.”

  “That mean he didn’t help you kill my dog?”

  “Of course he didn’t,” Todd said. “But the fact that you think he could shows you don’t really know him.”

  “I told ’em we’s killin’ the wrong bitch,” Shane said. “What’s the name of that married bitch you been boning?”

  I knew he meant Anna but I didn’t say anything.

  “Jake could need help,” I said. “We should—”

  “So?” Shane said.

  “I thought he was one of your crew?” I said. “Thought you guys were brothers.”

  As I talked, I pretended to have to tread water, so I could reach down and grab the knife from the holster near the bottom of my right leg. Once I had the knife in my right hand, I opened my eyes again, avoiding the light, shading my eyes with my left.

  “Fuck Jake,” Shane said.

  “If you don’t care about Jake,” I said, “then what about the money?”

  “We’ve got the money,” Todd said.

  I shook my head. “You talking about the bags Kenny and Fred have?” I said. “That’s more of the counterfeit money from the plane. Jake switched the bags with two others he had filled with another two hundred and fifty from the eight.”

  “Bullshit,” Shane said.

  Of course it was but it was the best I could do and I was hoping the details added to its credibility, which must have been what they did because I could hear a hint of doubt nibbling at the edge of his words.

  “Call Kenny and ask him,” I said, just making it up as I went along. “Ask him who loaded the money into the car while they put the truck in the river.”

  Not sure where that came from, but it didn’t sound half bad. Even if they had a cell phone with them, it was doubtful they’d get any signal out here.

  They had the drop on me and I was pretty sure they intended to kill me. I had to figure something out fast.

  “That double-crossin’ little cocksucker,” Shane said.

  “Jake’s tryin’ to save his mother’s life,” I said, attempting to add more credibility to my story. “He’d do anything. Even leave me out here alone. He’s probably racing toward the hospital right now.”

  “Where would he take her?” Todd said.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “I’m not up on the black market. I honestly doubt Jake is either. He’ll probably wind up killing her faster. I didn’t say Jake was a genius. Just tellin’ you what he’s probably up to.”

  “And why are you doing that?” Todd asked.

  His question had been sarcastic, but I answered as though it weren’t.

  “Because she’s my mother too,” I said. “If I thought there was any chance what he’s tryin’ would work, I’d be helping him. He needs to leave her alone, let her doctors do what they can. I wish you’d stop him. Besides, he double-crossed me too. Left me out here to die.”

  “Come on,” Todd said. “Let’s get him in the boat.”

  They trolled toward me, and when they got close enough to reach down for me, I ducked under the boat, deflated my BC, and tried to find the regulator as I quickly sank toward the bottom.

  Above me, the trolling motor started again, and shotgun pellets began piercing the water around me.

  I was descending too fast without stabilizing, and my head began to hurt from the pressure building inside.

  As I fell, I searched frantically for the regulator, dropping the knife and the light in the process.

  Nearing the bottom again, I kicked my fins and partially inflated my BC. I couldn’t be sure exactly how close I was to the riverbed, but if Shane was still firing, the rounds weren’t making it down to where I was.

  Finally able to find the hose, I pulled the regulator, put it in my mouth and willed myself to take deep, slow breaths.

  When I had begun my quick descent, the mask had been on top of my head, and somewhere along the way, it had been knocked off. In terms of visibility, it was irrelevant, but the river water stung my eyes, and I wished I had it.

  As soon as I was able I began to swim. If Todd and Shane had their dive equipment with them, they’d be suiting up right now and would be down here momentarily.

  I had no idea which direction I was headed in. I was just trying to get as far away from them as fast as possible.

  It occurred to me that if I stopped swimming and let the current carry me, I’d know I was headed down river.

  So I did, eventually swimming with the current for a while then turning and heading toward land.

  Unable to see anything––even my own hands out in front of me, I felt my way forward through the blackness, and I wondered how long it would be before I came in contact with a snake, gator, or turtle, or a log propelled by the oncoming current that would strike me and knock me unconscious, causing me to drown.

  When I realized all Todd and Shane had to do to find me was follow the bubbles pouring from my regulator and popping up on the surface, I took in a deep breath, held it, and then changed directions.

  I went with the current for a while again, then turned back toward shore, only breathing occasionally.

  Now in addition to my head, my lungs and muscles ached, and I felt as if I wouldn’t be able to go on any further, but just as I was about to give out, my hand felt the root system of a downed tree, and I knew I had made it to shore.

  Using the root system for grip and the tree for cover, I came up slowly and quietly, and listened carefully as I wiped the river water from my eyes.

  Suddenly the area around me was illuminated, and they were headed straight toward me
in their boat, Shane firing the shotgun all around me.

  They had me.

  I was too close to shore, the water too shallow for me to disappear into it again.

  They were coming at me fast as if they planned to just run over me, and there was nothing I could do.

  Without warning, probably because it was running without lights and Todd and Shane’s engine masked its sound, a boat shot out of nowhere. It rammed Todd and Shane’s boat in the side, knocking them out of it and keeping it from hitting me.

  A hand reached out of the darkness, grabbed my arm, and helped me roll into the boat.

  “Come on, Chaplain,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Looking up, I could make out the faint outline of Sandy Hartman in the moonlight.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I overheard them talking about taking care of a problem tonight,” he said. “Figured it was me or you.”

  As he gunned the motor and took off, I slipped out of my BC, took my gloves and fins off, and sat up. Behind us, I could see Todd and Shane scrambling to get back in their boat, and I knew it wouldn’t be long until they were coming after us.

  The force of the wind on my wet body was cold and I began to shiver.

  “You better get out of that wetsuit,” he said.

  Unfortunately I didn’t have a whole lot on under it and I’d rather be cold than naked on the river.

  “Shit,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Here they come,” he said. “This little boat won’t outrun ’em. We’ll have to find a place to hide.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Not far from here is a slough they call the River Sticks,” he said. “Nobody goes back into it much. It’s shallow and filled with fallen trees and limbs. It used to cut over to the Florida River, but a big oak tree has it completely blocked now.”

  “So if they find us, we’ll be trapped.”

  “Unless we go ashore,” he said.

  “Any other options?”

  “Not around here,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  We did.

  Once in the slough he turned off the motor and began negotiating the narrow, obstacle-filled passage with a paddle and the trolling motor. The moon provided just enough light for me to see how appropriately named this small tributary was. Fallen trees from the banks extended out into the water, their craggy root systems thick and gnarled. Breaking through the surface at various spots throughout, the remnants of deadhead cypress trees were splintered and jagged.