Shawn Inmon - The Vigilante Life of Scott McKenzie

Still, he kept his notebooks. Whenever something came up that he thought he could still handle, he left his little cabin in the Oasis and hit the road once more.

One of those happened in October, 1994. Joe and Sam gave Scott a ride to Portland, where he caught a flight to Charlotte, North Carolina. He left his weapons at home. He knew he wouldn’t need them this time.

In Charlotte, he rented a car and drove a little over an hour to John D. Long Lake, a man-made lake in South Carolina. He drove around the lake, found the boat launch, and parked. He got out of his car and surveyed the surroundings. He hiked around until he found a spot where he could be essentially hidden from view, but could still see the boat launch.

He paced off the distance between his hiding spot and the launch. Seventy-five feet. He certainly didn’t have sprinter’s speed these days, but Scott judged he could run that far when called upon.

He drove to the nearby town of Union, and found a small motel.

Scott had hoped to combine this one last job with finding a few more lost souls for the Oasis, but as he drove around Union, he knew that was unlikely to happen. It was the kind of small town that took care of its own. It was far enough off the beaten path that it didn’t attract a lot of itinerant vagrants.

He grabbed a burger at Dairy Queen and vowed to start eating better when he was off the road to stay. He knew he had a full day the next day, so he gratefully crashed in his little room next to the highway.

The next morning Scott was up early, as usual. He knew that what he was there for wouldn’t happen until later, but not unlike his very first job, he felt nervous about this one. He stopped at a convenience store, bought two bottles of water, a sandwich and chips, and a cup of coffee to jump start his brain.

He drove back to the lake and looked around. He didn’t want his car to be seen from the boat launch, so he drove it half a mile away and parked it in a spot that would look like someone had taken off for a hike.

He grabbed the equipment he had brought with him, along with his food and drinks, and hiked to the spot he had scouted out the day before.

By 11:00 a.m., everything was set up and in place. It was a Monday, exactly one week before Halloween, and the lake was deserted. Scott sat for hours, watching for vehicles, but aside from one pickup that cruised in then turned right around, there were none.

Finally, at 3:45, a maroon Mazda four door rolled in and came to a stop.

Scott took a deep, calming breath.

He moved to the edge of his cover and waited.

The car idled for several minutes, smoke curling up from its tailpipe. Finally, a young brunette woman opened the door. She leaned inside and fidgeted with something. Scott didn’t hesitate. He began to run.

The woman stepped back from the car and stood mute while it rolled toward the lake, slowly picking up speed.

Scott sprinted. Through the back window, he saw the tops of two car seats.

The driver’s door was still open, swaying as the car bumped over the approach.

Scott planned to get there before the car hit the water. He didn’t make it.

The car slowed a bit as it hit the resistance of the lake and Scott managed to catch up. He dove for open door, leaped inside and slammed on the brake. Cold water rushed in and filled the front of the Mazda up over the seat. Scott jammed the car into Park, pulled the emergency brake, and turned to look in the back seat. Two boys, one almost a baby, the other only a toddler, were looking at him with wide frightened eyes. The youngest was crying.

Scott clambered out of the driver’s side, making sure to unlock the back doors as he did. He threw the back door open and got the smallest of the boys loosened from his car seat. The older boy had somehow managed to get out on his own.

Scott did his best to smile reassuringly at them. He reached out his arms to the older boy. “Come on, champ. Let’s get you out of there.”

Scott’s world turned upside down as the woman threw herself at him, beating at his face.

“What are you doing to my children! Help! Leave them alone! Police!”

Scott righted himself, picked the woman up, and threw her into the water. He knew she was desperate and didn’t know what she would do next.

The oldest boy screamed “Mommy!” and tried to clamber across the seat. Water continued to rush in.

Scott grabbed both boys and hurried them up the launch to dry land.

The woman had picked herself up and chased after them.

She plucked the two boys up and screamed, “I’m going straight to the police!”

“No need,” Scott said. He pulled the cell phone he had bought for the trip from the pocket of his coat. He had stored it inside a plastic zipper bag in case he had needed to go into the water. He opened the bag, dialed 9-1-1 and said, “Hello. I just watched a woman try to drown her two children in John D. Long Lake.”

In the background, the woman was screaming hysterically.

“We’re at the boat launch. Can you please send someone here immediately? I’m afraid she’s still trying to hurt her children.”

The woman had vented her hysteria and spoke more quietly. “They’ll never believe you. Why would I do that? I’m going to sleep at home in my bed with my little boys, and you’ll be spending the night in a jail cell.”

“Anything’s possible, but I doubt it.” Scott reached up and touched his cheek. His fingers came away bloody.

One last war wound, I guess.

Almost immediately, the wail of sirens approached. Two local police cars came skidding toward them, tossing up a gravel roostertail.

The woman became hysterical again, pointing at Scott and screaming, “He hijacked us and drove my car into the lake. He tried to murder my children.”

Scott stood quietly.

The first officer on the scene escorted the woman to his prowler with her two boys.

The second officer approached Scott. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Scott did as the officer asked.

The cop clicked the cuffs on him and in a low, reasonable voice, said, “Why don’t you tell me what’s happening here?”

“Sure. I’ve been here for a few hours. I was over there,” Scott indicated his spot in the woods with a nod of his head, “taking some videos of the lake.”

The officer looked at the spot Scott had indicated, then turned and looked at the lake.

“Not much going on here this time of the year. Why were you here, taking shots of the lake?”

Scott shrugged. “It’s a hobby. Back at home, I like to put videotapes of peaceful scenes on my television and just let them play.”

The cop squinted at him. He was used to be lied to.

“Uh huh. I don’t suppose you happened to be running this camera when this all happened?”

“As far as I know, it’s still running. You want to walk over and check it out?”

TEN MINUTES LATER, another half dozen vehicles had arrived at the scene. Two more local cops, two county sheriff’s deputies, a South Carolina State Patrolman, and, for some reason, the local fire chief.

All of them gathered in a circle around the cop who had put the cuffs on Scott. That officer held Scott’s camera out, with the small screen extended. He showed everyone else what Scott had shown him.