Bobby Cole - The dummy line

He was still mulling over the plan-the inspiration of which was his favorite African hunting story. He didn’t know if the story was even true, but it was the best idea he could come up with. He also knew that if he made a mistake in executing this plan, it would have deadly consequences for all of them.

“Elizabeth, can you walk some without the crutch?” he asked.

“I’ll try,” she said.

“You can lean on me,” Jake offered.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Listen, I have a plan, but y’all are gonna have to do exactly what I say when the time comes…no arguin’, OK?” Jake looked at each of them. They both nodded in agreement.

“Come on,” he said, picking up Katy and holding out his arm for Elizabeth.

They took off down a logging road, purposely leaving tracks a blind man could follow. Jake moved as fast as he could while searching the woods for the right tree. They’re all too small , he thought. While they struggled deeper into the swamp, Jake continued to think through his plan. I’ve only got two shells. Two opportunities. I have to be close. Are there more than two guys after us? He wondered. It would be just like calling in two big old gobblers-letting them walk in as close as possible. Jake had done it before. His toughest challenge was to remain unseen.

After another three hundred yards of hobbling down the logging road, laying tracks, Jake saw the tree-a giant water oak with large limbs and a huge canopy. It was enormous. It had to be over a hundred years old. The tree had just started to put out new leaves, and the massive limbs hung level over the road. Jake kept Elizabeth moving past the tree for another hundred yards or so before he stopped and put Katy down. He looked back in the direction of the giant tree. This is far enough . He hoped.

“OK, y’all listen and no arguments. I want y’all to hide behind those trees right over there. Sit on the other side. Take my flashlight, but do not, and I mean do not , turn it on unless it is absolutely necessary. If you hear a shot, don’t run unless you hear me yell at you to run, and then run that way,” he said, pointing in the direction they were facing. “Highway Seventeen can’t be much farther. Run until you hit it.” The girls didn’t say a word; so, he continued. “Y’all sit still. I’m gonna get these guys. I need to hurry, and I need y’all to sit quiet and wait on me, OK?”

“Dad?” Katy was tearing up.

“No, Katy,” Jake cut in before she could finish. “I need you to be a big girl and help Elizabeth. Please. I know what I’m doing.” He was about to choke up himself.

“Elizabeth, please watch her. Y’all stay together. Don’t freak out if you hear shootin’, all right? In fact, expect it. I’m going to get us out of here one way or another.”

“Yes sir.” Elizabeth could see how serious he was and could hear it in his voice. She also could tell he was scared.

Jake grabbed Katy and hugged her as hard as he ever had in his life. “I love you, Katy.” He wanted to say more but couldn’t. He swallowed hard. “I’ll…I’ll be back in…one hour at the most. Please be quiet-just like when we deer hunt. Okay?”

Katy couldn’t speak.

“You gotta take care of Elizabeth now. OK? She needs your help.” He winked at Elizabeth. She smiled understandingly. He knew Katy liked to feel needed, to have a purpose. “You’re in charge now.”

Katy wouldn’t let go.

“Come on, Katy, please.”

She finally loosened her grip.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Jake watched them walk away. He knew they would hide in the right spot. Katy was great at hiding. He turned off the logging road, walked about twenty feet out into the woods, and then he hurriedly made his way back to the giant tree, staying off the logging road. He thought of Peter Capstick’s story about the leopard waiting in the tree over his tracks for the unsuspecting hunter. That was Jake’s plan.

The stalkers would be looking for them on the ground. Jake would surprise them, but they had to be close. His white arms and face would stand out, almost glowing, in dark woods, so at a mud puddle he rubbed sludge on his exposed skin. When he arrived at the giant oak, he saw that he was going to have problems reaching the first limb. Other than that, the tree was perfect. He listened for sounds of them approaching. Satisfied that he had some time, he silently unloaded his shotgun.

Jake held the two remaining shotgun shells in his hand, thinking. They were both three-inch Magnum turkey loads filled with number 4 shot. Maximum killing range on a man would be thirty yards. He had a trick that he’d seen once. He took out his pocketknife. Placing the blade against the plastic just above the brass rim, he slowly cut around the diameter of each shell, taking great care not to cut into the wadding. Jake knew that by rimming the shells, when he shot, the whole wad and pellets would stay together as a large mass in the plastic of the shell casing. This might stretch his effective killing range to fifty yards.

Jake unscrewed the extra-full choke from the barrel and dropped it into his vest, afraid it might constrict the modified shotgun shell too much, limiting his killing distance. He carefully loaded the shells back into the gun, then slung it over his shoulder. Jake took a quick look down the logging road. He didn’t see anything. He was sweating more now than before. He grabbed the side of the tree like Spiderman and tried to shimmy up. He struggled for a while then finally dropped to the ground. “ Shit! ” he said under his breath.

He tried again with a slightly different technique. He finally got a hand over the lowest limb. Ever so slowly, Jake used all his remaining strength to pull himself up onto the limb. He was quivering from the effort. He reached up to the next limb. It leaned out over the road. He slowly crawled out on it. Once he was over the road, he pulled the shotgun from his shoulder and clicked off the safety. He was strategically balanced twenty feet in the air, right over the center of the road. They’ll never look up, he thought hopefully.

Jake tried to get comfortable, but there was absolutely no way. He was covered in perspiration. He couldn’t stay very long in this position, and he started to rethink the notion of sitting on the ground. At least he would be comfortable, but it was too late…he was too committed. Jake let out a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and stared down the logging road into the darkness.

Without totally regaining his vision, Reese ran as fast as he could down the field toward the shooting house. When he was thirty yards away, he stopped to listen and watch for any movement. He walked closer, the rifle held ready at his hip. At the base of the ladder, he clicked on his flashlight to look for blood. He found none, but to make sure, he climbed up the ladder to look inside. He saw where one of his shots had ripped through the house. No blood, just small wood splinters everywhere.

“Dammit,” he said out loud as he climbed down.

Working the action on his Browning rifle, Reese unloaded it. He had three cartridges left. He couldn’t take any more wild shots. He had to concentrate; he had to make each shot count. Searching around with the flashlight, he found the footprints of one obviously very heavy person running off toward the southeast. The killer’s trail was taking Reese closer to Highway 17-that made all this easier for him and Moon Pie. Reese now knew the guy was carrying the kid, and that would slow him down.