Bobby Cole - The dummy line

“Who is it, R.C.?”

He swallowed first and paused a second before speaking, “Miz Martha, it’s Tanner Tillman.”

He knew that would upset her. Martha O’Brien was rabid about local high school football. Her husband had been the coach for twenty years. She still attended every home game. She talked about Tanner like he was her grandson. She loved the way he ran the wishbone offense.

“You better call his folks,” he said with sympathy.

Martha stared at the desk microphone for a second. “R.C.”-she began to tear up-“the ambulance is on the way. Take…take good care of him. You hear me?”

“Yes ma’am. Tell ‘em to hurry!”

Jake hit the brakes hard just ahead of a washed-out culvert. By moving the truck forward and back, changing the angle each time, he panned his headlights in search of a way around. There wasn’t one. Damn it! Jake thought, as he pounded the dashboard. He quickly clicked off his headlights and looked down the road behind him-nothing but darkness-no sign, yet, of anyone following. Remembering that he had a map of the area, Jake fumbled through his hunting vest until he found the aerial photo that showed timber, roads, clear-cuts, and food plots. He hadn’t been on this side of the property before. This was only his fourth trip to the club, and so far, all of his hunts had been in the south section, near the gate. He had killed two turkeys already and was hearing more. He’d had no reason to try new territory.

They would have to get away from the truck. They were trapped. He and Katy would leave it, walk a good distance, and hide. A shooting house would be perfect. It would be a safe vantage point. He knew there was a good chance of finding a shooting house on any food plot large enough to be seen on the map. Studying the wrinkled piece of paper, Jake decided to walk south on a dotted line called Rattlesnake Road. At the end of that road, he could see what looked like a large field. On the map, it was called the Little Buck Field. Surely it has a shooting house . If not, there’s another field about a half mile through the woods.

Jake parked the truck on the north side of the Dummy Line behind some big buckeye bushes that were in full bloom. We’ll slip back across the road and head south, hopefully creating some confusion . He looked at Katy and searched for words to comfort a scared little girl.

“Katy, everything is going to be fine. Trust me,” he said confidently. “All we have to do is wait on daylight. We’re gonna find a shooting house and climb up in it to hide.”

He could see that she was clutching one of her Beanie Babies. I’m glad she’s got it. She seems so small and innocent. He vowed to do whatever it took to protect her, both physically and mentally. He was getting pissed.

“Hey, I’ll bet Ashley-Kate and Mary’s adventures don’t even come close to this,” he said, trying to loosen her up and check her awareness.

“It’s Mary-Kate and Ashley, Dad,” she said with a knowing, sly look.

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” he replied. Thank goodness she’s still together. She’s tougher than I expected.

“OK, are you dressed?”

“Except for my boots.”

“It’s all right. I’ll carry you,” he replied as he grabbed his old Mossy Oak hunting vest and slipped it on. He checked the vest pockets. He had a compass, a map, and a pocketknife. He checked the pockets for anything else that might be useful. At least I’ve got a flashlight . He leaned his shotgun against the side of the truck.

Katy was in full Mossy Oak camo, heavy gray socks, and no boots. Jake was wearing wet, muddy blue jeans, an old button-down shirt, work boots, and his hunting vest. He searched the truck and toolbox in vain for dry pants or a jacket.

Slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, he grabbed his cell phone off the seat, put it in his pocket, and said urgently, “Grab your gloves and your hat. It’s pretty cold. If you’re ready, let’s go.” Pointing at the mouse Beanie Baby, he added, “And don’t forget Cheddar.”

“How’d you know his name?” She smiled in wonderment.

“I’m your dad; it’s my job to know that kinda thing.”

Jake grabbed Katy, who grabbed Cheddar. He put her on his left hip, holding her with one arm. He leaned away from her for balance as he started walking through the woods holding the flashlight, which he kept turned off, in his right hand. Jake’s adrenaline level masked her weight.

They had traveled a hundred yards or so when Katy whispered loudly in his ear, “Dad, you’re shaking!” She sounded as concerned about him as he was about her.

“Am I? I’m just cold and wet.” He tried to sound calm. He knew that the longer this lasted, the greater the chance they wouldn’t make it.

“I’ll keep you warm,” she replied and hugged him as hard as she could.

“Lord, help us,” he prayed in a whispered voice. He readjusted his fifty-pound passenger and started off again in search of the Little Buck Field.

Elizabeth was running for her life…and she knew it. She had run nonstop for twenty minutes when she slipped and fell face-first into the mud. Her knees and hands were skinned, her clothes were soaking wet with mud, and her legs were aching. Although she jogged three or four times a week, panic began to overwhelm and exhaust her. Not knowing what to do or where to go, she had stayed on the road because the moon lit the way. Her lungs were burning, and her right side ached. Standing back up, she looked east and thought she saw red lights heading away from her. She stared. The lights vanished. Were those really car lights? A chill ran up her spine. Elizabeth started running in the direction of the lights she prayed that she saw.

“Please, God, help me,” she said aloud, “and please, God, help Tanner, please let him be…let him be all right.”

Every now and then she passed one of the shooting houses lining the road. They were very ominous and resembled miniature prison guard towers. She had been hunting with her dad once and had sat in one very similar to these. But tonight, the moon shadows made them creepy. She was worn out and couldn’t go much farther. Not wanting to hide in the woods, she decided the next shooting house would be her refuge. There it was, fifteen feet or so off the ground, wooden, about four feet square and almost tall enough to stand up in. It was old but appeared to be in better shape than some of the others she passed.

She stood at the base thinking. She was too tired to run any farther. This made sense. Before she started climbing the ladder, she shook it to see if it would hold her. Quickly she climbed up and cracked the door. As soon as the door opened, there was a loud shriek and a blur of something big flying by her head. She screamed, “Oh, God!” as she slipped from the ladder. She hit the ground with a thud. Her right ankle immediately began throbbing. With exasperation, she made a fist and pounded the earth a couple of times.

An owl or a hawk, that’s what it was, she thought as she climbed back up and eased the door open again, ducking as she stuck in her head. All was silent. She quickly crawled in and shut the door. She ran her hands up and down the edge of the door until she found the latch and hooked it. She stared out the eight-inch-wide opening but couldn’t see anyone coming. She then eased down to the floor and pulled her legs underneath her. She loosened the laces of her right shoe and started to shake uncontrollably. She sobbed silently.