Bobby Cole - The dummy line

Tiny dry-heaved and turned away.

Elizabeth couldn’t see how badly Tanner was getting beaten. All she could do was scream.

Sweat quickly went around to the passenger side of the Jeep to pull Elizabeth out. She frantically looked for something she could use as a weapon. She could hear her mother reminding her that she should always carry Mace in her purse. All she found in the Jeep was a car battery. Scared to death, she jumped to the driver’s seat and tried to find reverse, grinding the gears. When she let the clutch out, it was in fourth. The Jeep jerked and the engine died. She leaped out and started running down the Dummy Line. Her mind was racing. She ran blindly. She had no idea where she was going. She just ran as fast as she could.

Tanner struggled to his feet out from under the front of the Jeep and then tried to tackle Sweat. Sweat grabbed him, punched him in the stomach, and then raised him up by the hair and punched him in the throat. Sweat then put Tanner in a head-lock that cut off his air. Tanner thrashed around. Sweat tightened his hold. Tanner was screaming but made no sound. His lungs were burning and felt like they were going to explode. Sweat held him until he quit moving. Then he threw Tanner’s body into the muddy ditch and turned his attention to the girl.

Tiny was breathing heavily, about to vomit. “What about the girl?” Tiny gasped.

“She’s mine. Man, this is my lucky day!” Sweat said, glaring down the moonlit road. He could barely make out her outline two hundred yards away, running wildly. I’ll catch her. Where’s she gonna go? he thought.

“What about Johnny Lee? Reese told us-” Tiny asked.

“Johnny Lee’s dead…you help Reese; I’m gonna catch that bitch and have me some fun,” he said, interrupting, and turned away.

Tiny knew Sweat was serious and would not be denied. He watched Sweat start walking slowly and deliberately after the girl. They were supposed to help catch Johnny Lee’s killer. I gotta get focused. He looked at the blood on the Jeep’s bumper, and then slid down into the ditch to check on the kid. I sure hope he ain’t dead. Talk about bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time. After confirming that the kid was alive and not facedown in the mud, Tiny went back to his truck for a beer in a desperate attempt to not think about tonight’s brutality, which seemed to have just gotten started.

Elizabeth ran for her life, tears pouring down her face. Tanner was in trouble and she couldn’t help. She didn’t help. He was fighting for me and all I could do was scream. Twice she stopped and looked back. The second time, with her hands on her knees and the vapor from her breath glowing against the distant headlights, she saw someone following her.

“Oh God! Oh God, help me!” she screamed, running as hard and fast as she could.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?” Jake asked Katy, trying not to let her see his fear. She didn’t answer. She was crying quietly to herself.

“Katy, we’re gonna get out of here and go straight to the police…someplace safe…I promise…just hang on, girlfriend.”

Driving like a maniac, he was trying to put as much distance as possible between them and those lunatic rednecks. If he could just get to the county road, he’d feel better. As they rounded a bend, a deer jumped in front of them, but Jake never took his foot off the gas. He grabbed his cell phone. No service .

“Shit!” he said aloud.

“I’m sorry, Katy,” he apologized.

“It’s OK. Just go, Dad. Go! I just wanna go home!” she exclaimed tearfully.

“I do, too, sweetheart. I promise we are,” he said, giving her a quick look.

When they approached the Dummy Line, Jake had two alternatives but really only one choice. A right would take them ten miles to the county road where there was one gate and he knew the lock combination. Turning left would take them several miles until the road dead-ended into several more miles of the Noxubee River swamp. That’s the reason the railroad had never completed the line-the swamp proved too vast and expensive to cross. A right it was.

Jake stomped the accelerator. Although the Dummy Line was full of potholes, it was a fairly good gravel road. As they crested the last hill before the gate, he saw headlights. Jake immediately slammed on the brakes. He could see a half-mile ahead. Somebody was coming onto the property.

“F-u-u…” He looked at Katy before he finished the word, “…dge!” Jake was unraveling.

“What is it?” Katy said as she sat up to see down the road.

“It’s not good.”

“Is that the bad guys?”

“I’m afraid so, but it’s OK…I’ve got another plan,” Jake said, lying.

It made sense. The bad guys obviously knew this area. He immediately cut off his lights. Sitting in the dark, he tried to think of solutions. There weren’t many. We can’t go out this way. The road’s not wide enough to pass another vehicle. Maybe hide the truck, and we’ll hide in the woods until daylight. No, not with Katy in tow. Think. Think. Think.

Jake slammed the truck into reverse and spun around. He sped back the way they had come, going past the turn that led back to the camp. As he roared by, he couldn’t see any lights coming down that old logging road. The thugs must be dealin’ with the mud hole .

Jake knew that hiding the truck was going to waste time. The roads were so muddy that tracking it would be no trouble. Jake swallowed hard. Be calm; use your head, Jake, he told himself. That’s the only way Katy’s gonna survive.

Mick Johnson drove slowly away from the camp, trying to piece together the evening’s events. He had met Jake eight years earlier at a National Wild Turkey Federation banquet in Birmingham. They had hit it off right away and turkey-hunted together every year since. Jake, ten years younger, was fun, but his job recently had grown incredibly stressful. Mick could see him changing. Jake had commented to him last year that he was thinking of a career change. Mick realized how much he liked Jake and how long it had been since they just simply talked. He made a mental note to have him over for some beers and steaks. Nothing was making sense. One minute he was sure Jake was in trouble, and the next he thought Jake might be off drinking and playing cards.

Mick pulled off Highway 17 to search for Jake’s home phone number. He punched it in and hit Send but hit the End button before it rang. It’s two fifteen in the mornin’. This isn’t necessary. He stared at the clock, then decided to drive by the Bama Jama Club, a local honky-tonk known to have the occasional recreational poker game in the back. Mick wished the sheriff had been more assertive. But what could he really do? Mick knew Jake wouldn’t be there, yet he prayed he was. The highway was empty as he pulled back onto it, heading toward the bar.

Ollie Landrum searched the radio stations for something familiar and soothing. He hated rap-couldn’t understand what they were saying. He hated country music-too twangy. He loved Otis Redding. He loved the blues-now that was music. Not finding anything, he switched off the radio, disgusted. All he wanted to do was sleep for about ten hours. He radioed Martha to let her know he was headed home. I really hope there’s nothing to all this .