Randy White - Haunted

It was the second time I had warned him.

“Don’t ever get old, Hannah, it’s humiliating.” Hands on knees, he sucked in air.

“I’d like to get a little older , if you don’t mind, so keep moving.”

“Why are you worried about snakes? At the homestead, you walked through weeds, muck, never a word. Totally fearless.”

“I’ll explain when we’re in the boat. Would it help if I took your arm?”

Belton watched the Land Rover brake to a stop outside his RV. “Do you know how to use that pistol?” Carmelo had appeared in the headlights, carrying what I guessed was a sawed-off shotgun, then jogged toward the door, while Theo, the driver, stayed at the wheel.

I said, “He’s going to be crazy mad when he sees you’re gone. Please, Belton, we’ve got to get over the fence before they spot us.”

“I did two tours in Vietnam, Army intelligence, and I still know how to shoot.” He stood, eyes fixed on Carmelo, who ducked into the trailer. “Give me the pistol, Hannah. You won’t get very far towing my tired old ass. It’s what I want.”

“I’d prefer not to discuss your backside or your ailments until we’re in the boat,” I said and tugged at his arm while lights blinked on inside the RV. Soon, Carmelo, from the distance, yelled something in a language that wasn’t English or Spanish-a guttural profanity, it sounded like.

“Stubborn girl,” Belton grumbled. He pivoted and began to match my long strides, the two of us walking fast, hugging tree shadows, the fence a jumble of vines only twenty yards away. Yet it seemed to take hours to cross the last stretch of open ground. Every step, I expected a spotlight to find us or to hear a gunshot.

That didn’t happen until Belton was straddling the chain-link fence where we’d found a break in the barbed wire. I had helped boost the man up and his shirt had snagged. As he tried to free himself, we heard grinding gears, then the whistling roar of a diesel engine. I didn’t have to look to know they were coming because shadows were displaced by dazzling white lights. Belton, with his glasses and heavy chin, appeared to be glazed with frost. For the first time I saw that his arms had been gouged bloody by the chimpanzee Oliver.

I said, “I’ll cut you loose,” and pulled myself up onto the bar, but his shirt ripped away when he lost his balance. Belton landed hard and rolled. A second later, I was on the river side of the fence, helping him up. “Can you walk?”

He made a mewling sound so childlike, it was heartbreaking-frustration, indignity. But there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. Although he tried, saying, “I really wish you’d give me that damn pistol.”

Behind us, the Land Rover was accelerating, not slowing: four bright fog lights mounted on the roof.

“You’re going to get me killed, too, Belton. Please don’t argue.”

The man sputtered, “I give up!” He stumbled to his feet and went toward the river, crashing through bushes with his weight. A moment later, he called, “I found the path.”

I stayed where I was and faced the Land Rover, the pistol level in both hands. I had never used the gun at night before and was surprised that its sights glowed like numerals on a watch: three intersecting green dots. The sights made it easier to draw a bead on the Land Rover’s windshield. As an afterthought, I thumbed the hammer back, then touched my finger to the trigger and waited. Stood there in full view and didn’t flinch even when a spotlight snapped on and found me.

Shoot Theo first through the driver’s-side window. That’s what I decided to do. Shoot Carmelo next. And shoot him again if he exits carrying that shotgun.

I wasn’t afraid. Belton’s childlike mewling had changed me in some cold and empty way. There was no indecision. No quibbling with my conscience. No labored breathing or panicky voice that urged me to flee. It was as if a darkness had been set loose inside me. I felt free and focused and sure, as the Land Rover bore closer, speeding as if to crush me, bouncing tail-high over ruts.

Let them see you, I thought. Make sure they know who is behind these bullets.

I did… Then, when the vehicle suddenly braked to a halt, I felt a trickling disappointment-not relief. Fifty yards was a risky shot for a pistol that contained only seven bullets. I didn’t shoot.

A shotgun appeared from the passenger’s window. I ducked when Carmelo fired one blind shot but stood taller after pellets had rained down through the foliage. Fifty yards was also too far for a double-barreled shotgun.

Theo ground the gears. The vehicle crept closer. Once again, I took aim and placed my finger on the trigger while the spotlight illuminated what I was doing… possibly, even what I was thinking:

Shoot Theo first. One round. Then one for Carmelo. Maybe the bullets will pierce the windshield, maybe they won’t-let God decide.

My thinking was so clear and sure.

The Land Rover stopped again. More grinding of gears, then Theo found reverse and backed away fast while the transmission whined. Carmelo yelled a profanity out the window just before the vehicle lurched forward, then kicked dirt toward the moon and sped away.

“Did you fire that shot?” Belton had returned to check on me.

“Cowards,” I said, watching the Land Rover. “Both them just cowards. They ran away.”

“You hit their car?”

I used the de-cocking lever so the pistol could ride safely in my backpack. It made a satisfying steel-on-steel click. “They didn’t give me a chance.” I walked past Belton toward the river. “You know where it is, so show me the path.”

THE ALUMINUM BOAT that awaited was flat-bottomed, painted green, with a small outboard motor that coughed and sputtered but didn’t fire the first few times I pulled the starter rope.

“Use those oars,” I told Belton. “You row while I work on this. It’s probably a bad fuel connection.” I pushed the boat away from the bank and felt a weightless sense of freedom. The moon filled a crevice between the trees where wind gusted from the northwest, but the water was calm.

“Oarlocks,” he said as if reminding himself what to do. “North, the guy told us, right? Is that north?” Belton pointed upriver with an oar.

I said, “If I get this engine started, maybe we should risk being seen by the campground people. There’s nothing north of here but wild country and cattle. If we go south, the Caloosahatchee is only fifteen miles or so, then another few miles east to Labelle. We can call police from there.” I looked up from the fuel tank. “You explored this river with Carmelo, what do you think?”

“That’s the problem. Carmelo lives in a houseboat about three miles south of the RV park, and there are more houseboats where the river widens. I don’t know if they’re all buddy-buddy, but I doubt if we could get past without being seen. One phone call and he’d run us down with that Bass Cat of his.” Belton fitted the second oar into the lock, then spun us around with an expertise that was encouraging. “We’ll start north and see how it goes, okay?”

The gas tank was plastic with a heavy plastic screw top. I burped the tank, checked the fittings, and tried again. The little 15 horsepower engine was too simple to need computer chips yet still wouldn’t start. “Why in the world would he loan us a bad engine?”

The aluminum boat surged forward, oars dripping. Belton replied, “He knew your name. Who is he?”

“We’ve never met, but… Well, I’m not sure. Tyrone, probably. I didn’t get a close look at him.”

“I wonder how he got your backpack.”

“He must have beaten Theo to my SUV. I don’t know why he’d want to help us-I just wish he had better judgment when it came to boats.”