“Thought you might need a table,” George said, “But I should’ve known better.”
Dad shrugged and smiled while everyone greeted each other.
“You and your boys do good work, David. That must have taken an hour or two,” George said, running his hand over the rough planks of our latest project. He turned to Kirk and me. “Show me your hands, boys.”
We held our blistered palms up for his inspection.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll try to to let you know ahead of time, next time,” he said with a smile. George walked back over to the tractor and plucked a cooler off of the mower deck. “Martha, will you do the honors?”
Martha paused in her rapid conversation with Mom. She opened the big Coleman cooler and lifted out a plastic jug. “Grownups only,” she said, handing a full gallon of George’s finest moonshine to David. “But, I didn’t forget you young’uns either.” She hoisted two round green watermelons out of the cooler and set them on the table. “First of the season,” she said with a proud smile. “And, last but certainly not least...” Martha lifted a huge foil covered platter onto the table and pulled the foil to reveal a mound of pink hamburger patties, ready to cook.
We all groaned in spontaneous pleasure. We had been living on canned spaghetti for long enough that fresh food of any kind was literally mouthwatering. George snagged a burlap sack off the tractor and threw that on the table as well. It was about twenty ears of fresh corn. What had started as a special day in name only had turned into the best day in at least month. Mom, Martha, and Lucy went to work, taking ownership of their cooking and running us males away, when all we wanted to do was hover around the food.
It struck me again that the world had changed. Only weeks before, Mom would have resented the fact that she was expected to cook, and Lucy would not have even considered cooking. She would have starved first. Now, they both took it as their most serious duty. Was it important for what it was, or were they just afraid that if they didn’t cook, Dad would have them scraping wood smooth?
In any case, it was a true holiday, and Dad was positively giddy with the excitement. We had actual proof, when dad splashed some moonshine into a plastic camp mug and gave it to Kirk.
“Go ahead, try it. Since it’s the 4th of July...” Dad’s grin looked like the Grinch right before he stole Christmas from the Who’s in Whoville.
Kirk took a sip, swallowed, and almost shuddered himself off the bench when the aftertaste hit. He waved his hand in front of his mouth until the fire in his throat settled.
“How about you, Bill? Want a taste?” Dad asked.
“No thanks, Dad,” I replied, having seen enough.
Dad and George laughed loudly and took sips of their own.
When the food was ready, we split into two tables. Kids at the Carroll’s modern table and adults at the homemade table. I’m pretty sure they were thinking about splinters when that decision was made. Our contribution was a big can of baked beans, which Mom declared passable, and a can of sliced peaches, which was our version of dessert that day. We didn’t have bread or hamburger buns, but those burgers tasted like the finest steak we had ever eaten, and the fresh corn was as sweet as candy to our young, cookie-starved taste buds. We ate and talked until our bellies were truly and completely full, and had taken up the space where words usually lived. Even little Jimmy was too full for any impromptu song and dance.
Dad was eyeing the peaches for another round when we heard the rumble of an engine, a gasoline engine, approaching from the north. Everyone went still and silent for a few seconds to confirm what we were hearing, and then we went for our guns. George came back from his tractor lugging a revolver as long as my arm. The engine dropped to an idle for a minute, and then roared again. It was definitely coming closer. Within another minute, we could hear the slither of grass as well. At that point, Dad lowered his rifle barrel.
“That’s our car,” he said.
“Are you sure? It’s very loud,” Mom asked.
“Pretty sure. We’ll know in a minute.”
Our old station wagon rolled right past the faint logging road on the edge of the field, scrunched to a stop, backed up and then then turned into our woods. As it approached, I could see that it was our car, but it was different. It was dirty, splashed with road grime and some kind of white powder, which Dad would never have tolerated. Even closer, the bullet holes became apparent, and there were lots of them. The car crossed the invisible boundary of our campsite, and just as we were about to run for cover, it stopped hard enough to rock on its springs a couple of times. The driver’s door burst open and a young woman with dark hair and tan skin ran at top speed across the camp. Jimmy barely had time to smile in recognition before his mother scooped him up and almost squeezed the stuffing out of her little boy.
We all stood around feeling silly with all the weapons while Juannie reunited with her child. It went on for quite some time, long enough to set our rifles back by their customary places by the trees. Juannie was talking to Jimmy in a high speed blend of English and Spanish, and it sounded like one of us talking to a cute puppy. When they finally broke for air, and she set Jimmy down, Dad asked the obvious question.
“You’re Juannie, I’m guessing. Where is Arturo?”
The young Hispanic woman looked up, and even with the tears, David could see why any man would drive into hell to find her. She was beautiful, young and curvaceous in the most appropriate way, with big dark eyes that could make a white Republican open the borders.
“Oh, he’s in the back seat. He’s been whining like a little girl for 300 miles,” Juannie said with a charming accent and an oddly carefree smile.
Dad walked over the car, and opened the door. Arturo was there all right, but he had lost at least twenty pounds. His face was pale and glossy with a sheen of sweat, and his left leg was covered in blood.
“Ah, shit,” Dad said. “Arturo! Hey, Art! It’s David. You ok?”
Arturo opened his eyes. “Hey, David. What’s up, my friend?”
“What happened, Art?”
“Oh, some white asshole shot me, right through the car door. He might have been a cop. Who knows anymore?”
“Shit, Arturo. Let’s get you out of there and take a look.”
“It’s ok. Juannie stopped the bleeding. It might be a little infected though.”
“Come on. Help me out.” Dad grabbed Arturo’s hands and pulled him into a seated position. Dad squatted down and threw Arturo over his shoulders, carrying him to the nicer of the picnic tables. Mom cleared it before Dad even got there. Dad laid Arturo on the table as gently as he could. Dad took his knife and cut off what was left of Arturo’s pant leg. Mom showed up with a wet cloth and Dad cleaned around the wound. Once the caked blood was gone, Dad took a sharp breath. The wound was oozing with puss, smelled terrible, and Arturo’s leg had red streaks all over it.
“George, can you hand me that jug, please? Beth, we’re going to need the first aid kit and probably some sewing stuff.”
Everyone was gathered around. Juannie was just realizing that her husband had a serious problem. After everything they had gone through to get here, I guess one little bullet wound didn’t seem like a big problem. George handed Dad the moonshine.
“Arturo. This is going to sting like crazy,” Dad said before pouring the pure alcohol into the wound.
Arturo screamed like a bobcat in a blender. Dad went to work with the first aid kit. He was debriding the wound as best he could, and building a disgusting pile of dead tissue next to Arturo’s leg. Arturo had passed out after the first scrape or two, which was a good thing. When Dad finished cleaning the wound, he poured another round of alcohol in the hole, swabbed some around and started sewing the entry and exit wounds shut. Mom watched in amazement. She had no idea her husband could do surgery of any kind, and here he was, sewing Arturo’s leg.
“Ok, he’s got a shot at making it now, but it’s not a great shot. We really need some antibiotics.”
George said, “I’ll be right back!” He jumped on his tractor and roared off in top gear, bouncing crazily as he disappeared around the corner.
Dad noticed Mom staring at him. “I was on nuke subs. Lots of us had big time first aid training since we couldn’t call for help when we were on patrol,” he said, as if that explained it.
“Oh... Just think of the doctor bills we could have saved,” she said.
“Yeah, well if you know a doctor around here, I would gladly give him a burger to do this job.”
That broke the tension for most of us. Juannie was wrapped up in guilt and worry now, and even Jimmy seemed to read the seriousness of the situation.
George was back in less than ten minutes. He practically catapulted off the tractor while it was still grinding to a halt. Geroge could apparently forget his cane when properly motivated. He ran over to the table and started pulling medicine bottles from his front pockets. We watched in awe at the sheer number of drugs he was producing. Dad was picking each one from the pile and sorting them into antibiotic and non-antibiotic piles. When they were done, George had six different kinds of antibiotics. He looked up at George.
“What can I say, David? I’m old.”
Dad went with the second newest bottle, since it had the biggest supply. He was guessing at the correct kind of drug, but he figured something was better than nothing. “George, when is Rodney due at your place?”
“He may be by today. It depends on how busy he is. I guess the 4th is about more than kids with fireworks these days. Anyway, if he does come by, then he’ll see the note and head out this way. If not, he’s due in a couple of days. Why?”
“If you don’t mind. See if he can find us some injectable antibiotics. That would be the best thing. Even without them, you’ve given him a good fighting chance. Thank you.”
“Aw, it’s the least I can do. Never thought my ‘shine would clean a bullet wound either...”
“I wonder if there are any real doctors around.” Dad looked around as if he could spot one in the bushes.
“Well, there’s one I know of, but he’s senile. I used to go to him until I realized that he kept telling me I had an anal fissure every time I went for a visit.” George said with a shrug.
Dad laughed and said, “Maybe Rodney can tell you about how the medical business is doing around here...”
“I’ll ask him for sure.”
Dad wrapped Arturo in a sleeping bag and crushed a couple of pills into a cup. He dissolved them in water, and dribbled them into Arturo’s mouth, letting his swallow reflex handle the rest. Between, Dad and Juannie, Arturo was watched every minute.
Chapter 4 - 8
“Wake up men! We’re nearing Trouble Point,” Shaun announced to his sleeping passengers.
Terry took a long look at the surrounding terrain. They had been following a long stretch of land on the left side of the boat. There was a small island ahead on the left and a larger island farther ahead on the right. He could see that the passage between the stretch of land and the right hand island would be tight, a good place for an ambush.
“We’re circling around this peninsula,” the pilot said, pointing to the land on the left, “And it’s a choke point for the entire lake. It’s not unusual to run into some gun toting pirate wannabees.”
Terry moved up near the gun rack, while the sleepy crew in the front stowed their packs out of the way. Bill took out his binoculars and began to scan the shoreline for signs of movement.
“Anyone here know how to operate a 50-cal?” Shaun asked.
Bill and John indicated that they had fired the heavy machine gun before.
“Ok, John, you have the duty. If we come under fire, you will find the gun in the canvas bag, along with several cans of ammo. Mount the shaft in the socket, and the gun on the shaft. Short bursts, if you please. If we don’t need it, leave it in the bag. I find that it’s better to look innocent until we need to look dangerous.”
John moved to a position low in the bow. He wisely sat hunched on the floor to avoid being the most obvious target. Everyone else retrieved their rifles and placed them inconspicuously near to hand. Terry watched the pilot’s detailed examination of the shoreline, and wondered why the man didn’t go faster. It occurred to him that Shaun enjoyed drawing out the bad guys, especially when he had a boat full of armed men to fight back.
“I see movement on the island.” Bill announced calmly.
“Got it,” Shaun replied, as they approached the narrow channel, and he bore just slightly away from the group in the trees. “I’m not too worried about those guys. They know better.”
The boat was tight in the passage, only a couple hundred feet separating them from either gravel and mud shoreline. Shaun waved lightly at the group standing on the island, within easy rifle range. They waved back with obvious disappointment, and turned back into the woods behind them. They had tangled with Shaun before, and had lost every boat in their possession.
As fast as the channel constricted, it opened up again, and Terry noticed the release of tension in the men. Apparently Shaun did too, and he said, “We’re not out of the woods yet, gentlemen. That was just the Percy Priest Welcoming Committee.” The land pulled away sharply to port, but Shaun maintained his course straight ahead until the boat was back out in the center of the main channel. Now they were looking ahead to another narrow passage, the peninsula still on the left and a sharply defined cove on the right. Beyond those features, the channel seemed to turn to the left and it was impossible to see beyond the turn. It was long half mile to pass the end of the peninsula, at their stately idling pace, which gave everyone plenty of time to survey the shoreline for trouble. They saw nothing for a good ten minutes.
Eventually, they came even with the point, and Terry could see the end of the curving channel opening onto a much broader stretch of water. On the other side, to starboard, he was also watching a boat ramp. A crowd was beginning to form on the concrete ramp, and because there were no boats among the group, Terry wondered what they were doing. Then he had a sudden intuitive notion that they had come to see the show, and that Terry and crew were the main attraction. He looked anxiously to Shaun, who was well aware of the growing numbers on the ramp. He didn’t seem surprised when the sound of multiple starting engines broke through the low rumble of the state boat.