6 Miles With Courage (16 page)

Ryan looked back to make sure that the man was
still untying the reins from the hitching post. The preacher was reading his bible. Ryan had to get a head start down the trail so he bolted for the front door.

He turned the knob and was out the door. When his foot hit the rickety steps one of them broke under his weight and he stumbled to the ground. All in one motion he was up and running again
, and in the blink of an eye he was several hundred feet down the trail.

He paused to listen
for the wagon and sure enough he heard the whiny of the horses and the rumble of the wagon wheels as it was headed his way. He ran down the trail as fast as he could, stopping to listen every once in a while. Every time he did he heard the wagon coming closer, coming quicker, so he ran all the faster.

Within a few minutes time he had come to a large
“T” intersection. Under any other condition it would have been cause for a celebration but he was totally unaware that he had reached Forest Road 77. His only thought was which way do I go, left or right? The deep wagon wheel ruts went to the right so he chose the left in an attempt to shake the wagon that was fast on his heels.

He ran down the wide red-clay forest road as fast as he could. He had gone
one hundred yards when after jogging through a bend in the road he came to something that stopped him dead in his tracks. Sitting off to the right side of the road was a stranger in a black suit.

It was the same suit that the groom and the preacher were wearing
and he was sitting amidst two large suit cases; make that three if you count the one he sat upon. The stranger was holding an open umbrella down low to the head, revealing two large eyes that seemed to glow in the dark shadow of the umbrella.

Ryan
proceeded at a slow walk not really sure if he should advance at
all
. The stranger looked ominous and the closer Ryan got to him, the farther the umbrella lowered. There was something strange about the umbrella, Ryan had never seen one like it and it looked somewhat feminine. Suddenly there came a loud whiney as the horses—which Ryan had hoped would have gone to the right—obviously had turned to the left and were now bearing down on him.

The sound of the horses grew louder; the stranger looked even more ominous as Ryan grew
nearer. He had to make a quick decision, run forward or stop and face the wagon and its rider. He could do neither.

Panicking he dove head first into the saw palmetto to his left. He
scraped and clawed his way until he was well hidden. His heavy breathing could not be heard over the thunderous noise of the passing wagon wheels and much to Ryan’s surprise they stopped upon drawing up to the stranger’s side. The horses whinnied as the driver dismounted.

“I knew you would make it!” said the driver excitedly.

“Couldn’t likely have had the ceremony without me, now could you!” exclaimed the stranger in a feminine voice.

“Everything is set and awaiting your arrival,” the driver said, his voice straining with the loading of the baggage, “watch your step,” he added helping the stranger up onto the wagon.

Ryan heard the snapping of the reins as the driver turned the wagon around and headed back in his direction. Ryan scooted down low so as not to be seen, but knowing full well that the stranger had seen him dive into the bushes. Maybe the stranger thought that he kept running but just when the wagon was about to pass his hiding place the stranger yelled, “Stop!”

The wagon came to a halt in front of Ryan. He could see one of the rear wheels through the bushes. There was a moment of near silence as the horses
snorted and swayed nervously in their yokes awaiting their next command from the reins. Ryan held his breath.

“You’re going the wrong way
you darn fool!” shouted the feminine voice towards Ryan.

“
You want to go west!” the voice added and with that the driver snapped the reins and the wagon took off.

“What?” Ryan said
to himself as he tried to make sense of what just happened. Furrowing his brow and shaking his head in disbelief it all suddenly came to him.

“It’s true!” he exclaimed, “I am going the wrong way!” he realiz
ed that he
was
on Forest Road 77 and that he made a left instead of a right while fleeing from the wagon.

“Wait!” he yelled loudly
, struggling to clear the bushes and catch the wagon to thank them,
whoever
they were.

Running
, he caught a momentary glimpse of the wagon as it turned up the trail towards the cabin. Both the driver and the stranger were looking back at him as they appeared to want to distance themselves from him and rather quickly at that!

“Wait!” he yelled once more as he sprinted towards the trail.
He ran fast enough to have seen the wagon but upon reaching the trail everything was simply…
changed!

The trail was much narrower now,
barely wide enough to walk let alone wide enough for a wagon to pass, and there were no wagon-wheel ruts as before. Forest Road 77 was wider but he was certain this is where he saw the wagon turn in. He ran a ways ahead somewhat in a panic thinking he may have the wrong road. He doubled back thinking the same. Eventually he wound up staring down the narrow trail in disbelief. He listened for the sound of the wagon but there was only the rustling of the leaves as the wind picked up from the approaching storm. Ryan sank to his knees into the red-clay of the road.

“What’s happ
ening to me!” he cried. His head rose towards heaven, fists clenching the clay in anguish, wanting
so
bad to hear again the sound of a wagon. If nothing else it would prove to him that he was not
mad,
or
crazy,
or perhaps even
dead!

The thought that he had no
t survived the plane crash began to creep back into his psyche and in all fairness
why not?
An episode like this could very well leave one doubting their
sanity
.

Now, without the sight
of the wagon to assure him that all was well Ryan hung his head. Down on his knees, with fists still clutching the clay, he allowed himself a short but hard cry.

It could be worse for Ryan
. It could be raining.

The darkened sky rolls in across Forest Road 77. There is a strange sound in the trees and a cold sensation on Ryan’s back.

It started to rain.

And it was at this very moment that Bob Mallory heard the first of the rain on the roof of his cruiser—miles to the north, his lights flashing as a beacon for the helicopter that will soon come and pick him up to start the search from the air.

Out towards the edge of blackness that makes-up Rob’s comatose world, the last of the towering thunderstorms have passed. Gone are the lightning flashes of thought, those electrical impulses that spread across the brain of a thinking man. He won’t need them anymore as Ryan has reached the forest road and in some strange way Rob’s body knows that it is time to shut down. It must, if he is to survive.

Judy continues to go about running her husband’s business. It is close to noon and she is expecting a call from Sheriff Bob Mallory very shortly telling her that the “bird” is in the air. For her and the rest of her family life has been normal since Rob and Ryan departed on their flight. But very shortly, things will be far from normal.

Bob picked up the radio and placed a call to headquarters. He instructed his deputy to get the bird in the air and he gave a brief description of where he could be found. He also left explicit instruction to call Judy and to tell her the air search had begun. He had his office contact all the other agencies that would have an interest in a missing or downed airplane. The ranger that Ryan was supposed to flag down, he got the message also. Bob mentioned to no one that Rob was not to be found in the two vacant fields or the grassy pond. Bob figures this will buy him time before Judy
really
starts to worry.

Bob heard the chopper long before he
had seen it. He stepped out of the car into the drizzling rain. Shielding his face he looked towards the southwest in the direction of the sound. Not seeing anything he decided to slip-back into the warm cruiser. He checked the lights to make sure that they were flashing and indeed they were. He waited with anticipation, watching out of the front of the cruiser expecting any moment for the chopper to swing down.

The grass in the pond began to wave violently to
-and-fro and the water began to churn as though in a washing machine.  The sound became deafening as the chopper hovered directly over Bob’s cruiser. The downward thrust of the helicopter, together with the steady drizzle, gave Sheriff Mallory the impression that he was in a hurricane.

He had no intention of stepping out
of his cruiser until he had seen the whites of the eyes of the pilot, as he imagined himself stepping up onto the skid and being graciously lifted into the air.

But it
was not to be.

Suddenly there was a splash in
front of the cruiser and Bob was looking at the broad side of a rescue basket that had been lowered into the pond.

“A basket?” he asked.

“A basket!” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh well so be it,” he said
folding and stuffing the aerial map into his shirt pocket as he prepared himself to step out into the deafening whirlwind.

The pond
pulsated rhythmically to the loud chatter of the whirling blades above. The noise was so loud that Bob could not hear himself grumbling as he climbed—soaking wet—into the rescue basket.

The sixty
-foot ride to the top went smooth thanks to the wench, and as the chopper hovered above his cruiser Bob was swiftly pulled inside and was given a warm blanket and a headset with which to communicate to the flight crew.

“I have an aerial of where the missing
plane was heading,” Bob said as he retrieved the photo from his pocket and handing it to one of the flight attendants he continued.

“It’s this red boxed
-out area up here to the north,” he said as he pointed his finger at the map, “they left from Brown’s Airfield here, and I believe we should start over here—on the north end and work our way south.”

“Sounds good,” said the co-pilot
.

Bob watched as
the co-pilot drew long—very close—lines on the aerial photo. Bob knew that because of the dreary weather, the search pattern had to be tight so they wouldn’t miss the wreckage. What Bob didn’t know was that if they searched at this rate, it would be many hours before they would be over Rob’s location and that it was impossible to see the wreckage from the air. It was just too well hidden under the canopy.

As the chopper began to pull away from the cruiser Bob watched as his flashing blue lights began to fade in the distance. He felt good that he had joined the search from the air. He felt no regret for not informing
the crew that he had searched the fields. Because after all, the plane could have went down
anywhere
and every square inch needed to be searched from above anyway.

He could not help but wonder what Ju
dy was doing at this very moment. Oh sure she was most likely going about her business whistling a happy tune knowing that he was looking for her husband. She knew that he had found her husband three times before and would eventually find him again; before dark is what she would be expecting.

Bob hated to think what Judy would think of him
if he found Rob—
dead!

What would she think of me
then? What if I had only gotten to him sooner? Bob began to doubt his wisdom in holding Judy to the agreed upon waiting period. It could have been a serious mistake. That decision—in the long run—may have cost him her love
forever
.

Then Bob allowed himself one fleeting evil and lustful thought; if Rob had indeed died, would it be better for his chances with Judy if Rob was
never found!

Hmmm…never found
… hide his body… but how? He thought to himself.

“
Sherriff-Sir,” said the co-pilot waking Bob out of his daydream.

“
What? Did you say something?” Bob answered.

“
Yes sir, we are over the first flight line you may want to look
out
of the aircraft sir,” he said noticing Bob deep in thought.

“Yes sir, thank you,” Bob said as he earnestly began to scan the endless wilderness below. It was time to put the silly lustful thoughts out of his mind. It was time to look for his friend. Because in all reality if there was one person on the face of this earth that could live through any ordeal that the wilderness can throw at
him, Bob knew it was indeed
Rob Sykes.
Bob also knew in his heart that Rob was out there, somewhere, and he was
alive!

The cold drizzle on Ryan’s back force
d him to lift his head up, unclench his fists of clay and gather his thoughts. A quick inventory of his battle scars told him he was indeed among the living. He had fresh cuts and scrapes from diving into the saw palmettos and the side of his head was still very sore and somewhat swollen from Jebediah’s rifle butt. To the benefit of his dad he wanted to believe that the vanishing wagon was a hallucination, perhaps he suffered a concussion either at the wreckage or when Jebediah hit him in the head. For the time-being it made the most sense.

Ryan stood up and looked around. He had two good feet, a road to follow and a father to rescue.
He began with small staggering steps dragging his feet on the clay road in a zombie-like fashion.
Now
he was moving in the correct direction—west towards Highway 19.

The drizzle was steady and most miserable.
The road soon began to puddle along the rutty edges forming long reddish pools of water only adding to Ryan’s misery as he sloshed through them. He had gone about a half-a-mile when he heard it, the unmistakable sound of water puddles spraying against the underside of a fender.

Ryan turned and looked behind him
. He watched in disbelief as a pick-up truck with water spraying out from its fenders was bearing down on him at a good rate of speed.

This is it! H
is heart was pounding with excitement. This is my ride out of here!

Moving out of the road he scooted up close to the bushes and leaning out slightly waved his right hand at the driver with a smile. The truck kept coming, the water was shooting, and any minute now it should start slowing down to ask him if he needed a ride.

It did not stop to help him in fact it never even slowed down. The truck drenched Ryan in a mud bath from head-to-toe. He looked like a clay statue with two white eyes. He had no time to be upset as he needed to clear his mouth of mud. The truck disappeared into the distance as Ryan had spit the last of the mud out.

“Folks sure are friendly around here,” he said.

He did not let this get him down. He knew that he was right on schedule, even if by foot, to make Highway 19 by one o’clock, but a ride sure would have been nice. He went on for another mile sloshing through the mud when he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle coming from behind him yet
again!

“Ah-ha, I’ll do it different this time,” he said as he now stood directly in the middle of the road with his hand out in the
halt position. Again it was a pick-up truck and again it was slinging mud out both fenders as it closed in on him at a good clip. The wipers were going back and forth and the head lights were blinding him as the truck bounced along the water drenched clay road. Closer and closer it came with no sign of slowing down. Ryan held his ground but when he could stay no longer without getting run over he dove out of the way and into the bushes.

He got up quickly and returned to the center of the road and shaking his fist
he vented his anger towards the driver.

“What am I
invisible?
He screamed at the top of his lungs. Then bending over with his hands on his knees he started laughing and did a little dance.

“Ha-ha, h
ey everybody look at me I’m the invisible man! Here……. I…… am……… to save the day!” he sang dancing around on one foot as the tail lights of the truck faded into the distance. Then as quickly as he started dancing he stopped. He watched the tail lights disappear.

“
Idiot!” he said kicking the water off the road towards the distant truck.

A
gain he started walking toward Highway 19. He should be there in twenty minutes. That will leave five minutes to spare before the ranger is due to pass by.

The drizzle had let up some. He was cold
, as well as wet and muddy. Fatigue was beginning to set-in as he knew he was approaching his goal. His adrenaline was fading fast.

Ryan could hear the cars and trucks passing
by on Highway 19 long before he could see the actual roadway. The sound could not have come at a better time as he had begun to drag his feet. The grade of the clay road began to rise and the whining of the wheels became louder causing Ryan to pick up the pace with excitement.

The first sight of a vehicle came in the form of an eighteen wheeler. Ryan could make out only the top of its trailer above the grade as it sailed quickly by. Ryan looked at his watch it was seven minutes to one.
He had seven minutes to walk a short distance to the crest of the grade and the intersection of Highway 19. It was his intended goal from the beginning of this ordeal.

He
made it!

He
made it with only two minutes to spare before the ranger would be making his way through the intersection on his way to the boat ramp.

You would think Ryan would be
overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of the asphalt road but he wasn’t. Too many weird things have happened along his journey. It would be no surprise to him if the road simply vanished into a mirage and he suddenly found himself standing in the middle of the swamp. He sat at the edge of the road running his fingers across the asphalt feeling its texture, reassuring himself that it was real. The drizzling rain washed the orange clay off his arms, he watched as it ran off his fingers. Then faintly in the distance he heard something. It was the sound of a distant vehicle and it was heading his way.

At first he had little motivation to stand up and meet the oncoming vehicle. After
all the last two had went right past him, but after consulting his watch he had a change of heart. It was precisely one o’clock and if this was the ranger than this
is
the moment he had worked so hard for.

In the distance a pickup truck was coming. When it was close enough to see
blue lights on the roof, well then Ryan knew at that very moment that it was
indeed the ranger!

Ryan made a desperate move
. He decided that it was time to put an end to whether or not he was among the living
or the dead! He simply could not bear to see the ranger drive right by without stopping. He walked out into the center of the road and stood there facing the oncoming truck. Either the ranger was going to stop or he was going to drive right through him.  Ryan simply was not going to have it any other way!

Standing in the road with half the clay washed off of him he looked like
some kind of
a creature, like a melting orange statue as the truck bore down on him from one hundred yards away. Ryan raised not his hand, as that technique failed him the last time. No, he just stood his ground fully expecting the truck to pass right through him—not feeling a thing. He closed his eyes and waited.

SCREEEEECHHH!
Ryan opened his eyes to the horror of the truck sliding sideways as it
tried
to stop!

It slid to the left! It slid to the right! It straightened back out. It came to
a smoking, steamy stop, just inches from Ryan’s chest. The ranger stared in disbelief thinking he was about to run over the
Skunk Ape!

But when he saw it was a young man
, well he just got angry.

The ranger flicked on his flashing blue lights and stepp
ing one foot out of his open door, he leaned out into the drizzled and bellowed at Ryan, “What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?”

Ryan answered with a slight smile, “I thought I already had,” he
said, “yesterday.”