Bobby Cole - The dummy line

“Do you get airsick, sir?” Wilson interrupted bluntly. “Because when we’re doing back-and-forth ground sweeps, it can be pretty rough on your stomach, sir.” The last thing Wilson wanted was someone puking up coffee and doughnuts all over his helicopter.

“I’ll be fine,” Ollie said, not totally convinced. “And please cut out the ‘sir’ business. This ain’t the army. I appreciate it and all, but it’s not necessary.”

“Yes sir. Sorry, it’s a hard habit to break, sir.”

“Since we’ve got a little time, I want to brief you on the terrain. It’s an immense area of pine plantations and hardwood swamps.”

“Good. Thanks. It’s gonna be foggy in the low areas. That’ll hurt our vis.”

“Let me ask you something. Are you leaving at eight o’clock to fly the governor to the beach?”

“No sir. I’m yours…as long as you can keep me topped off with fuel. This mission is priority one for me. It’s the first real mission I’ve had in quite a while. But just in case, tell the governor that you can’t get in touch with me. He can be a bit overbearing.”

Ollie smiled approvingly at him. He could tell Wilson wanted to help. His military background might be useful, too.

“Sir…Sheriff, I really enjoyed watching you play football. It’s a real pleasure to work with you,” Wilson said.

Ollie smiled and shook his hand again. “Thanks for being here. Let’s go look at those maps. Need some coffee?”

“I’d love some,” Wilson replied.

“Lakreshia?” Ollie asked, turning to her.

“I’ll get it,” she responded.

“I like mine black ,” he said, smiling boldly at Lakreshia.

Lakreshia glared at him as she walked away. Ollie chuckled to himself. He liked Joe Wilson.

“Now that’s close,” R.C. said. R.C and Tillman froze when they heard the gunshots. “A shotgun blast, then a high-powered rifle shot, then another shotgun round!” R.C. continued, his police skills beginning to show. R.C. coursed the shots with his compass. They listened. Nothing.

“Come on!” R.C. said, taking off through the woods.

Limbs slapped R.C. in the face. Tillman’s shoe came off in the mud, but he quickly caught up when R.C. stopped to listen.

“I just heard a man yellin’ somethin’!” R.C. whispered excitedly. With his hands on his knees, R.C. was trying to catch his breath. His left side was hurting. He wasn’t used to much physical exertion. Tillman was even more winded.

R.C. took off again. The woods had become dense. The timber changed from pines to hardwoods. The ground was soggy, which slowed them a bit. R.C. could see a logging road off to his right. He let Tillman catch up. They stood still for about thirty seconds to catch their breath and listen.

R.C. pointed at the old logging road. “We can travel easier on that,” he whispered.

As soon as they stepped onto the logging road, R.C. spotted fresh footprints. He clicked on his flashlight and kneeled down for a closer look.

“Look at this. I’d say that’s a man’s boot, and that’s probably a female’s print, maybe Elizabeth’s,” he said, then looked up at Tillman.

“What about those?” Tillman asked, pointing out the tracks off to the side.

“I don’t know…definitely male.” R.C. shook his head. “And very fresh.” R.C. clicked off his flashlight and stood. “Come on.”

They had gone another seventy-five yards or so down the logging road when R.C. noticed something out of place ahead of him. He clicked on his flashlight. He couldn’t quite make out what it was. They slowly approached.

“What the hell is it?” Mr. Tillman whispered.

“I don’t know,” R.C. responded, easing his pistol out of its holster. The hair on the back of his neck was beginning to stand up. Something wasn’t right.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he recognized that the form was actually a body.

“Who is it?” Tillman asked, putting his hand over his mouth. The gore shocked him.

“I’m not sure. Man, I’ve never seen a hole that size. There’s blood everywhere. He musta been shot with a grenade launcher. Be careful where you step.”

R.C. felt in the corpse’s pockets. He found a new 9mm pistol, a cell phone, and a wallet. He stuck the pistol in his back pocket, then opened the wallet. Shining his flashlight on the driver’s license, R.C. nodded.

“Reese Turner. That makes some sense…he runs with Johnny Lee Grover. Didn’t recognize him.” R.C. quickly flipped open the phone and looked at the call history. “This will be enlightening,” he quipped with a nod and slid the phone into his pocket.

“Shine around and see if anybody else is here,” Tillman suggested.

“OK,” R.C. said as he put the wallet into his pocket. He quickly shone the light around the perimeter. “I don’t see anybody else.”

“What’s that?” Tillman asked, pointing up at a bright white spot on the dark oak tree limb above them.

“Looks like something blew the bark off that limb…had to be a gunshot.”

R.C. started shining his light around and under the canopy of the big tree. “Look at this shotgun shell,” R.C. said, holding the brass of a shell under the light. “Have you ever seen one do that?”

“No. It looks like it was cut…the plastic’s gone,” he commented. “It’s been rimmed. That’s gotta be what happened to our buddy here,” R.C. said, pointing at Reese’s body.

“I thought a shotgun would be enough…”

“A rimmed twelve-gauge would be like a mortar round, ten times the knockdown power. Instant death.” R.C. swung the light to illuminate the tracks going down the logging road. “Let’s keep going.”

After they had walked only a few yards, Tillman stopped. “Am I seeing things, or are there more tracks now?”

“No, you’re right…there’s one more pair of tracks, but these tracks are identical to the ones we’ve been following. It’s the same guy. He doubled back and tricked ole Reese here into a close encounter,” R.C. said, pointing out the similarities with his flashlight. “It’s the shooter. And I’d say he’s pretty slick.” R.C. continued shining the flashlight back at the tree limb, then down at the body, and then holding up the rimmed shotgun shell.

Jake stopped cold. He had caught a glimpse of a flashlight beam through the woods. Then he heard distant voices. His heart raced even more. How many of them were there? He had no ammunition. This was not good. He knew they would catch up with them before he got to the highway.

“Girls, we gotta cover a lot of ground quickly. The ground slopes that way…there has to be some kinda creek down there. Hurry. We need to cross it.”

Both the girls nodded.

“Let me help,” Jake whispered to Elizabeth.

Jake was shaking again. His shotgun was useless, except as a crutch. All he had resembling a weapon was a pocketknife. He was trying to come up with plan. Think. THINK! he kept screaming to himself.

When Jake saw the creek, he knew what he had to do. As soon as they crossed it, Jake set Katy down on a log and pulled Elizabeth over so she could hear. He paused for a second. He hated what he was about to do.

“OK, girls. The highway’s right through there. It’s not very far. There are at least two guys tracking us. I’m gonna stay here to distract them while y’all run to the highway. Flag down the first car you see and make them take you straight to the sheriff’s office in Livingston.”