Scott Williams - The Pulse

Like most rivers in the region, the Bogue Chitto flows mostly unseen through deep forests, swampy bottomlands, and other areas accessible by only a few roads. Although the river was popular with weekend canoeists and fishermen, few people in the area would think of using it as a travel route. And since recreational paddlers seldom bother trying to fight its sometimes swift current to travel upstream, the authorities would hardly suspect anyone would try slipping into the state by that route. Grant knew they could get away with it, and besides, the cabin they were trying to reach was right on the banks of the Bogue Chitto. There was a bridge crossing the river just a short distance south of the state line, and from that point he knew it was less than 10 miles upstream to the cabin. It would take a lot longer to paddle that distance than it would to ride the bikes to the cabin on the road, but it would be a sure way to get there undetected. The only problem was that they would need a canoe and paddles. He had one at the cabin, of course, as floating the stretch of river down to the next bridge was one of his favorite pastimes when he spent time there. That one wouldn’t do them any good, now, but an alternative might be found, if he remembered correctly. It still wasn’t his first choice by a long shot, but thinking about it gave him something to do while he pedaled.

Five miles north of Franklinton, they met a refugee family that had indeed been turned back at the state line. Seeing them riding their bikes in the rain, heading north, the driver of a southbound antique Ford pickup pulled over and rolled down the window to wave them over.

“I hope y’all ain’t tryin’ to go to Mississippi,” the man said.

Grant brought his bike to a stop and Jessica and Casey did the same. The truck was in great condition for its age, and had probably been kept in a garage and only driven occasionally or displayed in car shows prior to the family’s current need for it. The driver looked to be perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, his face weathered and tanned like that of a man who earned his living working outside every day. On the bench seat beside him was a boy of about six, and on the other side sat the boy’s mother, an overweight but pretty brunette who looked quite a bit younger than her husband. The back of the truck was covered with a blue tarp secured by an assortment of old ropes and bungee cords.

“We are,” Grant said. “My parents own a cabin not far across the state line. Is it true they are turning people back?”

“Yep. I got a brother lives out from Columbia, about an hour from here. Got a big place in the country and raises about everything he needs. I was taking the family up there to get away from that mess in Baton Rouge. I was raised up there myself but moved down here years ago for the work. I’m a roofer by trade. Now I wish I had never seen that place. A big city like that ain’t no place to be with the lights out an’ all. I never would have thought they’d turn us back at the state line though. I lived in Mississippi more than 20 years until I moved down here. Now I can’t even get in. I don’t know what we’re going to do now. We ain’t really got no place to go and no way to get anything we need. I sure don’t want to take my family back around all them people. Heck, I don’t even have any way to protect ’em anymore since they took all my guns away.”

“Took your guns? Who took your guns?”

“Them sheriff’s deputies up there at the roadblock. Said I broke the law trying to bring weapons into the state, and they didn’t even let us in to begin with. Heck, all I had was an old 12-gauge pump I figured would come in handy for huntin’, with all the grocery stores cleaned out, and my Smith .357 revolver that had belonged to my daddy.”

“How could they just take them? Doesn’t just about everybody around here in Louisiana and Mississippi have a gun in their vehicle? It’s not illegal to own one or transport it.”

“Naw, but everything’s changed now. Some of these gung-ho law enforcement officers act like they’re in a war zone or something. Do whatever they feel like doing, and there ain’t nothing you can do about it. Heck, they even look like soldiers, standing around out there with their BDUs on and carrying those M-4s. I tell you, there ain’t no arguing with ’em, and it’s only gonna get worse. If I was you, I wouldn’t be ridin’ up there on no bicycles trying to get across that line with them two pretty girls you got with you. I’d be gettin’ off the road too, unless you’re packing yourself.”

“I am armed, and I intend to stay that way,” Grant said. “I’m really grateful you told me they were confiscating weapons at the roadblock, though. We won’t attempt it now.”

“Well, I hope y’all have good luck trying to find some place to go. I’d give you a ride somewhere, but as you can see, we’re loaded down. Don’t know really what we’ll do, but my wife’s got some friends that’s got a place out in the country a bit north of Hammond. I reckon we’ll go there and see if they’ll let us camp out on their property. I’ve just barely got enough gas left to get there.”

“Good luck to you too. I hope it works out that you can stay there. I’ve got a couple of alternate ideas, and the info you gave me helps a lot.”

The man put the pickup back in gear and drove off. Grant turned to Casey and Jessica, who were expectantly looking at him, waiting to see what he had to say about all this.

“Can you believe that? Confiscating guns, closing a state line to non-residents…this is crazy. It’s like I told you before about New Orleans after Katrina. The cops there were going around collecting weapons, even from innocent citizens who only had them in their homes for self-protection.”

“So now we can’t even try to cross the state line,” Casey said.

“Why not?” Jessica asked. “We won’t need a gun when we get to the cabin, will we? I mean, I know it’s your dad’s gun and all, but we could just buy him a new one later, after all this is over, couldn’t we?”

“That’s not the issue,” Grant said. “Right now, in this situation, any gun is priceless and cannot be replaced for any amount of money. We can’t risk losing it. And yes, we may well need it for self-defense, even at the cabin, and if not for that, then certainly for small game hunting.”

Jessica was exasperated. “So a gun is the reason we can’t try to cross the border. What are we going to do, then?”

“It’s not just about the gun, Jessica. It’s clear that they wouldn’t let us in anyway. They turned that guy down and he has a wife and small boy with him, not to mention that he’s from Mississippi, even if he doesn’t live there now. Besides that, there’s no telling what those lawmen will decide to do next. They’re obviously on a power trip and are making up new rules on their own. Like the man said, you two attract a lot of attention, even if you do look like a couple of soaking wet rag dolls right about now.”

Casey smiled. The rain was letting up so there was hope they wouldn’t have to stay soaking wet much longer. “So what is the alternative, if we can’t even attempt to cross the state line?” she asked.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t attempt to cross it. I just said we can’t risk trying that roadblock, or any other roadblock for that matter. That means we won’t be crossing into Mississippi by road.”

“So how are we supposed to get there, then?” Jessica asked.

“The river. I’ve been thinking about it since we left Franklinton. The river goes right to the cabin, and nobody will be watching it because there’s nothing but woods where it crosses the state line. In fact, it’s so remote between bridges you really don’t have any way of knowing that you’ve crossed from one state to another.”