Bobby Cole - The dummy line

Moon Pie couldn’t believe Johnny Lee was dead. He would do his part to reap revenge. The house was easy enough to find. The lots in the area were large, wooded, and very private. Piece of cake . Surveying the scene, he noticed a new Jeep Grand Cherokee that was probably used to haul kids to school. The driveway was big enough for several vehicles, and since only one car was there, he knew the woman was probably alone though she might have a kid or two in there. He hoped not. He wished he had more planning time. He could see a fancy fishing boat, and it was certain to have rods and reels worth stealing. Moon Pie loved to fish, but he hated to pay for good tackle. He’d check the boat on the way out.

As Moon Pie slowly approached the house, a large dog barked halfheartedly. Moon Pie had anticipated a dog. Dropping to a knee, he acted as friendly as he could, but the dog didn’t buy it. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a hot dog he’d just bought at the Quik Mart, broke it in half, and tossed half to the dog. It stopped barking, smelled the bait, and then ate it. He waved the rest of it and tossed it only a few feet in front of him. The dog slowly approached, still very suspicious. She was accustomed to men in camouflage coming up to the house at all hours. Usually she got fussed at for barking. But this guy had food. Torn between protecting the house and eating a delicious hot dog, the wiener won. She then escorted him up the front porch steps.

Peeking in through glass in the front door, Moon Pie could see an illuminated alarm keypad. All the lights were green. He smiled. This is too easy. Then, something wet and cold touched his hand. Moon Pie jumped. Quickly looking down, he saw the black dog sitting, wagging its tail.

Jake drove like a bat fleeing hell down the old road, hitting small trees the entire way. He had already knocked the mirrors off one side of his truck. He was in the beginning stages of panic. He kept telling himself to calm down and think. As he approached the top of a ridge, he slowed down to try his cell phone.

“I can’t believe I can’t get a signal,” Jake said with disgust as he threw the phone down and looked in his rearview. He couldn’t see any lights following them. Visibility in the deep woods was less than a hundred yards.

Jake turned off the truck, then stood outside to listen. He couldn’t hear anything. Maybe they weren’t coming? Maybe he and Katy had gotten away? He had no idea how far he could hear, but it should be quite some distance. Katy was busy pulling on her pants as Jake climbed back in. She looked nervous, but he was keeping her busy.

“Put on the heavy gray socks,” he said.

“These?” she said, and he could hear the fear in her voice.

“Yes, baby.” Jake nodded his head also.

Jake cranked the truck and checked his gauges. Half a tank of gas. Plenty . They needed to make it to the Dummy Line and get the hell out of there. He guessed he had about twenty miles to reach a county road. His cell phone probably wouldn’t work again until he got back to Highway 17. He wondered about the big mud hole that he knew lay ahead as he dropped the truck into gear and drove forward.

Jake couldn’t get the image of the shooting out of his mind. He couldn’t believe he had shot that guy. He had no choice, but this was unbelievable. What a nightmare! Deep down he knew he had made the right decision. But still he questioned whether it could it have been avoided. Should he have stepped out of the shadows and shown his gun? He’d never know. Who were those guys? What did they want? Why did Katy have to come on this trip…of all the trips he had been on! Katy, my dear, sweet Katy. He shuddered to think what might have happened to her. Morgan was going to be pissed.

“Dad, where are my boots?” Katy asked.

Jake realized he had left them in the camper. “Damn,” he said under his breath. He had placed them in the camper so they would be warm in the morning. In all the confusion of leaving, he’d remembered her clothes but forgotten the boots.

“That’s OK…I left them in the camper. You won’t need them. We’re going straight to the sheriff’s office,” he said, trying to sound confident.

Suddenly a long, deeply rutted mud hole loomed in front of them. His headlights would only illuminate part of it. Years of heavy logging trucks had really rutted this part of the road. The planted pine trees lined the edge of the road like a wall, preventing him from going around.

Jake looked at the hundred-yard stretch of mud. He had no idea how deep it was. He had a winch, so he figured he would try to make it as far as he could, then winch his truck the rest of the way. It was his only logical option. He didn’t know if they were chasing him, but he knew he couldn’t go back the way he came.

“Fasten your seat belt, Katy, and hang on,” he warned as he lined up the truck on the mud hole.

Shifting into four-low, Jake decided to try the right side. He punched the gas and did his best to keep the truck headed straight. The mud grips were biting chunks of red mud, slinging it everywhere. He turned on the windshield wipers. Katy covered her eyes with her hands. The truck’s momentum slowed, but they continued to make progress. The ruts pulled them to the left; then suddenly, with thirty yards to go, the frame hung, slamming them to a stop. Jake tried reversing. No use. He cut his tires left, then right-nothing.

“Katy, I’ve got to get out and pull the winch cable to one of those trees,” he said, pointing down the road. “You stay right here. Everything’s OK. Why don’t you put in your Hillary Duff tape?”

“I’m OK…can I help?” she asked and meant it.

“Sure, let me go see what I need,” Jake replied. He had no intention of letting Katy get out of the truck.

Jake opened his door and stepped into the cold, muddy water. The mud was so deep it nearly pulled off his boots every time he took a step. He ignored the cold. He felt around inside the gull-wing toolbox until he found his flashlight. Then he found the winch control. After slogging to the front of the truck, he laid the controller on the hood. He turned the winch to Free Spool, then started pulling out the cable as fast as he could trudge through the mud. Finally, after wrapping the cable around a tree just past the mud hole, he plodded back to the truck. He inserted the control into the winch, ran the cable over the hood, and threw it in the driver’s side window. Climbing in, he gave the engine some gas, put the transmission in neutral, and then flipped the switch on the winch control. He watched the voltmeter spike and the cable move.

“Yeah, baby. Yeah! Come on! You can do it!” Jake said aloud, nervously tapping the steering wheel with his hand.

When Jake realized he was wet from the knees down, he was cold. He turned on the heater and tried to put it out of his mind. Maybe I’ve got some dry clothes in the toolbox, he thought, watching the cable become taut and begin dragging the truck down the road. Jake loved his winch, especially tonight.

Slowly the truck was being dragged down the road. Jake fought the urge to put it in gear to help out. He feared getting the cable hung up under the truck. He knew this was the safest way to winch out. He kept the truck’s RPMs up to prevent draining the battery. Come on! Hurry! Please hurry. As the truck eased out of the final bit of mud, Jake hopped out and looked back. He could see lights coming through the woods. His heart jumped into his throat. He ran to unhook the winch line from the tree, cutting his right hand on the cable. Without waiting for the winch to rewind the remaining twenty feet of cable, he quickly wrapped it around the brush guard on the front of the truck and jumped in the driver’s seat.