Into The Darkness (10 page)

Dylan
leaned forward and pointed to the direction of the dam near where they secured
the rafts. The sergeant slowly released the clutch and the truck jumped forward,
rocking the three men in the back. The sky was pewter gray with low hanging
clouds. Raindrops smacked the plastic of their rain ponchos hard as the truck
strained to go faster. The men pulled their hoods over their faces and waited
for the truck to stop. As the truck slowed near the dam, Dylan tapped the top
of the cab, leaned to the driver window, and pointed to the three rafts on the
ground, still covered with tarps. The sergeant pulled up next to the rafts and
pointed the truck toward the road that would portage the men and rafts around
the dams. They stacked the rafts on the flatbed and Dylan and Kevin began tying
them securely in place. The sergeant and Richard stood by the passenger door
and tried to talk over the pounding rain and echoes of thunder.

“Someone
should ride in front now,” suggested Sergeant Haber.

Richard
opened the passenger door to take advantage of the invitation. He saw a black
duffle bag on the seat and reached across to move it. The sergeant lunged and
grabbed Richard’s arm.

“Hold
it, hold it…I’ll move that out of your way,” said the sergeant, as he pushed
Richard’s arm away from the bag. The sergeant gently moved the bag over to the
driver’s side and then he went to the other side of the truck and gingerly
picked up the bag, then set it carefully on the floor. The sergeant took the
driver’s seat and everyone else found their spot on the truck. With another
cloud of black smoke, the truck lunged forward again and into first gear. The sergeant
drove the truck slowly up, then down the hills around the dams.

Richard
saw the sergeant’s knuckles turning white from his tight grip on the steering
wheel. The sergeant was silent as he drove. He stared at the wet road ahead,
occasionally glancing down at the black duffle bag. As the truck approached the
last dam, Richard noticed the sergeant had started sweating profusely. The
windows were slightly rolled down and the air was cool. Richard tried not to
stare, but he could see that there was something different about the sergeant
now.

The
sergeant stopped the truck at the top of the last dam. The rain had stopped,
but the sky was still dark and gray. Looking past the dam, they could see a
gentle slope to the river. The sergeant helped them take the equipment down to
the riverbank. They left the wool blankets in the truck cab to stay dry.

“I’ll
put your blankets in my bag and meet you down there, go ahead,” said the sergeant,
pointing to the rafts near the water. He waited until the men turned their
backs and slowly removed the black duffle bag. The sergeant unzipped the bag
and carefully placed the blankets inside. He carried the bag down to the river
and sat it down by the raft nearest the riverbank. He was now between the men and
that raft. He removed the blankets and tossed them into one of the rafts.

“I
was thinking it was too bad we couldn’t get you any weapons for your journey.
It’s such a shame. You have a long way to go and there are a lot of bad guys
out there.” The sergeant spread his feet a little wider as he stood in front of
Dylan’s raft. “I heard you were lucky enough to get a pistol. What kind is it?”

“9mm,”
Dylan said, looking confused at the question.

“That’s
fantastic. Do you mind if I take a look?” asked the sergeant, with a forced
smile.

“Why?”

The
sergeant took a step toward Dylan. “I am a big fan of firearms, I love the
9mm…do you mind?” asked the sergeant again, now holding his open hand toward
Dylan. “Look, I brought a wonderful assault rifle. It’s in my bag, right here.
The stock collapses…why don’t you have a look at it?” The sergeant got closer
to Dylan.

Dylan
pulled the pistol out of his pants and handed it to the sergeant. The sergeant
smiled and passed the pistol from hand to hand. He took a few steps back toward
his black bag by the raft. “Dylan…Dylan…Dylan…a good soldier never gives up his
weapon,” stated the sergeant coldly, as he looked up from the pistol, shaking
his head disapprovingly. “I think I should keep this pistol, Dylan...I wouldn’t
abandon a good pistol…especially if it was my only weapon.”

Dylan’s
face was red with anger. His hand was on his knife under the rain poncho,
gripping it tightly. But Sergeant Haber had the pistol; Dylan knew there was
nothing he could do about it.

“What
kind of shit is this?” said Dylan, angrily. “You have your choice of weapons
back there. You’re in supply and can get anything you want. We need that!”

“Yes…plenty
of weapons, kept in the armory, locked up tight and guarded. But no rafts. And
correction…I
was
in supply. I quit this morning,” said Sergeant Haber,
sarcastically. “I should thank you for your idea on how to get home. I’ll be
going back to Illinois. My parents have a farm there.” The sergeant sneered.
“They will be out of food on the base and in the city before winter arrives.
You’re crazy if you think I am sticking around for that. Thousands of hungry
people with automatic weapons…no thanks.” The sergeant pulled an envelope
sealed in a plastic bag out of his duffle. “Here is the general’s message for
Fort Benton,” said the sergeant, as he put the envelope, sealed in a plastic
bag, on the ground. The sergeant began to push the raft onto the water after
gently loading his duffle bag into the raft. “Don’t follow me. I prefer to
travel alone,” warned the sergeant, as he patted the black bag. “Stay away.”
The sergeant jumped into the raft and pushed away from the shore. The three men
stared at him and he stared back as he floated away.

“I
didn’t see that coming,” said Dylan, in a subdued voice. Dylan picked up the
letter from the general and dropped it into Richard’s raft. He turned and
looked at his two companions and said, “I saw what was in the bag. It was full
of ammunition, grenades, and maybe some explosives, too.”

Richard’s
eyes grew wide as he listened to Dylan speak, and said, “When I reached to move
that bag, he freaked a little. That explains it.”

“There’s
nothing we can do about it,” said Kevin. “Double up with Richard. Set part of
his stuff in my raft to give yourself some more room.”

They
transferred some of the supplies between rafts. Dylan was now sharing Richard’s
raft, and they moved the rafts near the water. Just before they pushed off,
Dylan noticed a stand of river cane at the riverbank. They delayed their
departure to cut down several dozen of the bamboo-like plants.

“What’s
it for?” asked Richard, as Dylan put a bundle of river cane next to him. “It
looks like skinny bamboo.”

“Keep
these dry and I’ll turn them into arrows for the bows,” said Dylan. “I’ll try
to hunt with them; it’s all we’ve got now.”

The
men pushed away from the bank. Gray clouds remained low in the sky.
Intermittent raindrops would tease the men every time they thought about
removing their rain ponchos. The river had swollen from the rain and the
current grew stronger.

For
miles, they saw desolate rock bluffs and scruffy patches of grass under the
gray sky. Their surroundings appeared inhospitable. By late afternoon, their
journey had taken them to a small oasis on the riverbank. They approached a
gravel clearing that joined to green grass and trees. Kevin was first to signal
that this was the place to stop for the day. They pulled the rafts out of the
water and surveyed the new landscape with wide, alert eyes. Dylan took the
hatchet to chop driftwood for a fire, hoping the inside of the wood had remained
dry. Kevin and Richard decided to find a secluded area to camp in the thicket
of woods. They found a flat spot under the canopy of trees. They noticed an
existing fire ring someone else had used. The ashes were old and cold; no one
was around now. Dylan brought several pieces of driftwood and split them open.
The center of the wood was dry. Dylan split the dry core from the wood to use
as kindling to start a fire, and when he had sufficient kindling, he gathered
some larger pieces of wood, leaving Kevin and Richard to get the fire started.
Dylan wanted a good fire this evening because he was determined to dry the bow
wood further, and the green river cane, too. When the wood and cane were
completely dry, he would be able to finish them and hunt for food. With a bow
and arrow, he might be able to get something bigger and different than fish to
eat.

In
spite of the damp weather, they were able to create a decent fire. Dylan
bundled the river cane tightly together to keep it straight as it dried. Next
to the cane, but still at a safe distance from the fire, Dylan placed the bow
wood.

“I’m
starving.” Richard’s stomach growled with hunger. “Can we eat now?”

“Are
the bagels still any good? Think they’ve gone stale yet?” asked Dylan.

Richard
reached into his raft. “I don’t care if they’re stale. We have to eat
something,” said Richard, as he handed each man a bagel.

“I’ll
go set the lines for fish and filter some water,” said Kevin, as he walked
away.

Dylan
sat by the fire and alternated holding the river cane and bow wood close to it.
Keeping it warm would dry the wood faster. As he sat there, he noticed
something flicker under a bush, reflecting the fire light. He pulled it out
from under the bush and showed it to Richard. It was the Mylar wrapper of an
MRE.

“Did
you eat this?” Dylan asked Richard.

“No,
I never touched them. We only have a few left.”

Dylan
stared at the wrapper in silence. Then he spoke angrily, “That bastard Sergeant
Haber was here. I bet we just missed him.”

In
the distance, Dylan and Richard heard Kevin yelling. “Hey! Get over here.”

Dylan
held his index finger to his lips, signaling Richard to be quiet. Dylan grabbed
his knife and whispered to Richard, “Haber?”

Richard
shrugged his shoulders and looked for a place to hide. Dylan motioned with his
hands that they should split up and Dylan would be the one to circle around to
Kevin. Dylan slowly moved through the trees looking in the direction of Kevin’s
voice. When the shrubbery began to clear, he saw Kevin holding something with
both hands. It looked like a large rock. There was no sign of Sergeant Haber.

“Look,
a salt lick. This will go good with some fish or whatever we get,” said Kevin.

“You
have got to be kidding. We thought you ran into Haber,” said Dylan, looking
around the horizon and shaking his knife at the river. “I found an MRE wrapper
back there and thought you might have run into him.”

Kevin
cringed at the thought of meeting up with Haber. “Nope, but I found a tree
house back there. Go check it out,” said Kevin, nodding in the direction he had
come from.

Dylan
walked back into the wooded area, looking upward. In a heavily branched tree,
he saw something, but it was not a tree house. It was a deer stand. That would
explain the salt lick. This would be a great location to hunt deer. The deer could
eat the plentiful grass and come back for the salt lick and river water. He
approached the boards nailed to the tree and tested the first few with his
hands. They felt strong enough to hold him and they were not heavily weathered.
He estimated the structure was only a couple of years old. Dylan sheathed his
knife and began to climb the ladder. He pulled himself up into the stand and
surveyed the landscape. It was the perfect spot to hunt deer.

“Anything
up there?”

“There
are just some newspapers up here. I’ll bring them down and we can use them to
start fires.”

Dylan
bent over to grab the pile of newspapers. As he wrapped his hands around the
papers to scoop them up, he felt a sharp pain in one of his fingers. He
recoiled, and kicked the papers to the side angrily. He looked back where the
papers had been. Dylan’s jaw dropped and his mouth hung open in awe at what he
had just found. He dropped to his knees in disbelief. The razor sharp tip of an
arrow had cut him. There were a dozen carbon-fiber arrows with broadhead blades,
and a quiver lying under the old newspapers. He touched each arrow as if it was
a priceless crystal statuette and gently placed each one, tip down, into the
quiver. He put the quiver on his back and rolled the newspapers. Dylan shoved
the roll of newspapers into his waistband, then carefully climbed back down. He
was eager to show Kevin the arrows.

“I
don’t believe it,” said Kevin, staring at the arrows in amazement.

“We’ll
divide these after I finish the bows. I’ll still make some out of the river
cane. Save these beauties for something big, like a deer,” said Dylan, as he
held the arrow up, staring at it in admiration.

Kevin
asked to hold an arrow. After handing it to Kevin, Dylan looked back at the
tree. He noticed it was an old walnut tree, then quickly glanced around the
perimeter of the trunk, and noticed all the walnuts on the ground. “Kevin, look
down there,” Dylan said, pointing at the ground. “Walnuts are all over the
place. We can eat them. Let’s get something to carry them in.”

Dylan
and Kevin went back to the campsite. Kevin left the saltlick at the deer stand.
If they caught any fish, he thought that he would bring it back to camp and use
it for seasoning. They showed the arrows to an ambivalent Richard who was
prodding the campfire. Dylan asked Richard to keep rotating the bow wood and
river cane by the edge of the fire. Kevin dumped the contents of his backpack into
his raft and they went back to the walnut tree and filled the backpack. Dylan
went to the river’s edge and found two rocks to break the nuts open. He noticed
the walnut hulls had stained his hands almost black, and decided to save some
of the hulls to rub on the bows when they are finished. A dark finish to the
wood would provide some camouflage.