The New Madrid Run (21 page)

“Jesus! You cut my hand off!” Billy cried incredulously as he stared at the bloody stump. Without a moment’s hesitation or a whisper of pity, the sensei turned and drove his sword—his
katana
— up under the base of the man’s chin and into his brain. Billy’s eyes opened wide in shock, his body shivered in a death tremble, and he fell, the sensei withdrawing the blade as he collapsed.

The preacher broke the tomb-like silence as he whispered in awe, “They told me about you, but I didn’t believe it . . . I never seen anyone
move
like that.”

If it was a compliment, the sensei didn’t acknowledge it. He simply turned to them and said, “There is another on shore. We must take him before he suspects anything and sounds alarm.”

The preacher nodded. “You’re right, but we’re gonna need some sort of plan. Let me tell you the situation quickly.”

As they talked, they moved away from the body and the preacher looked down. “You know, I got an idea already. Sensei, you’re just about the same size as this guy. If you put on his clothes, and sat in the bow of the boat on the way to shore with that hat pulled down and your back to his brother, we might be able to get him close enough to take him. The other one’s a bit retarded, but he’s as brutal as Stalin on a bad day, so don’t take any chances. Just get him. Remember: he can’t fire that gun or Travis is dead.”

The sensei studied the man on the floor and thought for a moment. There wasn’t much blood on the jacket or the pants. It just might work. “Very well,” he said. “Help me with his clothes.”

Once the sensei was dressed, he took the tattered hat, pulled it on so it covered his head down to his neck, and turned to the rest of the group. “I will sit in the bow and keep the shotgun leveled on you people. My sword will be hidden next to me. If necessary, I want you, Preacher, to create a distraction, to draw him closer to the boat.” He didn’t need to say anything else; everyone knew what would happen then.

They all climbed into the
Amazing Avon
and headed back to shore. The sensei sat in the front, the preacher rowed, and the others huddled in back. As they neared the shore, they could see Walt standing in plain sight about thirty feet from the water line.

When the Avon finally touched land, Walt hollered, “You got ’em all, Billy, huh? You got ’em?” He moved closer to the dinghy, but unfortunately, instead of walking right up to the boat, he stopped about ten feet away, his instincts picking up something unnatural about the way his brother sat. “Billy, Billy, let’s get ’em out of the boat. Come on, Billy, you know you promised me . . .” Then, more cautiously, talking to the sensei’s back, “Billy, how come you ain’t gettin’ outta that boat?”

Suddenly, the preacher cried out, “Don’t shoot us, Billy, please don’t shoot us,” as he fell to his knees in front of the sensei. “You can have everything, just don’t shoot us, Billy!”

The outburst pulled Walt a couple of feet closer, but his guard was up. “What’s goin’ on, Billy? How come you ain’t talkin’?”

The preacher paused and looked up. The tension was so thick it was nearly tangible. Suddenly, the sensei sighed with resignation, and slipped his sword free from the scabbard as he turned. Walt was a good eight feet away and the sensei was still in the boat as he swung around.

“You ain’t Billy!” Walt exclaimed as he started to bring his gun up. The sensei held his sword by the very back of the hilt, his arm straight down at his side and slightly back, with the point of the blade aimed at Walt. With almost superhuman speed, he threw the sword underhand, blade first, like a softball pitcher, at the man in front of him. Before Walt could bring his gun to bear, the blade pierced his chest, the inertia driving the bloodied point out his back. The man’s legs buckled and he collapsed to his knees, frozen in that position for a moment as he examined the hilt of the weapon protruding from his breastbone with a surprised expression.

Slowly he raised his head to the others, who stood there, stock still, willing him to die. “Ma’s gonna be very mad at you,” he whispered. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth and dripped onto the weapon in his lap. Walt looked down at his gun. As if seeing it for the first time, the corners of his mouth turned upward in a small, sick smile, and the fingers of his right hand crept toward the trigger.

“For God’s sake, die you son of a bitch!” hissed the preacher. The sensei braced himself for a desperate leap at the man, when suddenly Walt’s eyes went wide, and he gasped. He exhaled softly, the smile fading with the life in his eyes, and he tumbled face forward onto the soft earth. The shotgun slid from his fingers and thumped to the ground. There was a simultaneous sigh of relief from the others in the
Avon
when they realized that the sensei had pulled off the impossible.

“
Gracias a Dios
!” whispered Carlos as he crossed himself.

The preacher shook his head as if to clear it, and quietly said, “Years from now, when I’m drunk in some bar and tellin’ this story, nobody’s ever gonna believe me.”

The sensei turned back to the rest of the crew. “He was the only one on shore, yes?”

“Yeah, he’s the only one,” answered the preacher. “But we’ve still got to deal with the old lady and her dogs. Don’t sell her short; she’s as mean as God makes human beings and her two dogs would have you for lunch and still want dessert.”

The sensei nodded. “Very well, everyone back to the boat. You and I, Preacher, are going after Travis. Carlos will stay with Christina and Todd.”

Half an hour later, the two men stood on the shore with rifles in hand. The preacher threw the bolt on his weapon. “All right, sensei, follow me. Let’s go get my boy.”

The preacher kept a hard pace. Two hours later, they approached the clearing where the house stood. Ma was feeding the chickens from a grain sack, not more than forty feet from where Travis lay bound to the stump. The ever-present wolf-dogs stood by her side, eyeing the chickens with poorly suppressed malice.

The two men were a good fifty yards from the woman and fairly well hidden, but they failed to take into account the dog’s keen sense of smell. The wind at their backs blew their scent across the compound, and as it reached the dogs, they bristled and turned as one. Ma jerked to attention, followed the dogs point with her own eyes, and caught a glimpse of the preacher’s red flannel shirt.

In a second she surmised what had happened. Dropping the sack of grain, she stabbed a finger at the men and screamed to her dogs, “go! go!” They didn’t need a second invitation. The animals were off like two gray blurs.

The woman paused long enough to look across at the preacher. Her venomous smile promised retribution. In the next second she was running, surprisingly fast for a woman of her size, toward Travis— and the axe.

The preacher stood up. “You take the dogs, Sensei, I’ll take the woman. Now!”

The pair raised their rifles with the dogs less than twenty yards away.

Grimly intent on reaching Travis, the old woman had covered better than half the distance already. As they fired, one of the dogs slammed into the earth, its front legs collapsing as the bullet smashed into its chest. The preacher’s bullet caught the woman high in the shoulder, spinning her slightly as her huge body absorbed the impact of the round. She stumbled and fell no more than ten feet behind Travis.

The sensei pulled the trigger to take out the second dog, but nothing happened. The first shell had not ejected cleanly and had jammed the mechanism. He threw the gun aside and swiftly drew his long sword, facing the charging animal with his blade high.

The preacher had no time to help; he had his own problems. Blood-splattered but coldly resolute, Ma had struggled to her knees and was crawling toward Travis, who was trapped between them, inadvertently shielding her from the preacher’s gun. Try as he might, the shrimper couldn’t get a clear shot at her as she crawled closer and closer to the axe.

The sensei stood his ground, awaiting the onrushing dog. When the distance closed to six feet, the dog leaped, fangs bared. Flexing his knees, the sensei drew the sword back, and thrust it into the animal’s chest as the dog flew into him. The Japanese was bowled over as man and dog careened backwards. When they finally stopped rolling, the sensei found himself staring at the creature’s jaws, only inches from his throat. The angry, glaring eyes of the dog were just beginning to glaze. The sword had entered his chest and the impact had forced the razor-sharp blade through his heart and into the vitals of the body cavity.

Ma, using Travis as protection, had nearly reached the stump. The preacher, beside himself with frustration, still didn’t have a clear shot and he knew he would get only one chance.

Travis watched helplessly as the maniacal creature clawed her way toward him. Spittle and blood flew from her lips with each ragged breath she expelled.

Die
! his mind screamed at her.
Please God, make her die! Don’t let her reach that axe!
But on she came, slowly, inexorably, hatred emanating from her like heat from a steel mill furnace. She was five feet away—then two—then her hands were on the stump.

“Now,” she wheezed through clenched, blood-covered teeth, “now you pay! The law! My law!” She ripped the axe free, drew herself up onto her knees, and raised it over her head.

It was
déjà vu
terror for Travis as, once again, the woman held an axe above him and began the downward swing. As the blade descended, he wrenched desperately at the ropes that held him, shrieking incoherently.

The axe was only inches from Travis’ arm when he heard the ear-piercing sound of metal striking metal, followed by a ricochet. The axe went flying from his assailant’s hand, bouncing to the ground several feet away. For a moment, both of them were stunned—too surprised to act. Then, in frustration and rage, the woman screamed, swung her huge body around and scrambled for the weapon. In a supreme effort, she grabbed the handle and rose haltingly to her feet. With her blood-red, bulging eyes centered on Travis’ head, she raised the blade one more time and charged the remaining few feet with the single-mindedness of a wounded rhino.

Travis was straining like a madman at his bonds when he heard the slapping impact of bullets into flesh, and two bloody holes appeared in the breast of the woman standing over him. She stopped dead in her tracks and wavered like a tree sensing the breeze, shock and confusion suddenly tempering the bitterness in her eyes. The axe was slowly slipping from her fingers when a third shot punched a hole in her throat, snapping her head back and toppling her to the ground.

Wearily, Travis let his head fall on his arm and exhaled the mother of all sighs. Seconds later, the sensei and the preacher came into sight, as they walked across the clearing. The sensei had blood all over the front of him and was limping a bit. The preacher grinned as he reached Travis.

“How’d you like to get away from that stump, son? That’s providing you haven’t got to likin’ it so much you want to take it with you.”

Travis looked up at his friend with a tired smile. “Untie me, just untie me.”

As the preacher worked the ropes, Travis remarked, “That was the most amazing shot I’ve ever seen, hitting that axe blade in midair.”

“Nope, it wasn’t,” the old shrimper said noncommittally.

“What do you mean, ‘nope.’ At that distance, with the blade moving that fast—”

“Wasn’t aimin’ for the axe. Was aimin’ at her head.”

Travis looked at the preacher incredulously. “You mean to tell me you missed her head by a foot and hit the blade by mistake?” “Yep, guess I did.”

“What was all that about you neutering frogs at one hundred yards then, huh?”

“That was if them frogs was sittin’ real still on a lily pad with their asses up in the air a bit. None of them frogs was chasin’ anyone with an axe.”

A moment later, Travis was freed from the stump, and as he flexed his arm to circulate the blood, he looked over at the sensei. “What happened to you?” he asked, pointing at the blood on the man’s coat.

“I had disagreement with wolf.”

“Very funny,” Travis said. “You know, I think with a little more time, I could make you into a pretty good American.”

“Never mind,” said the sensei. “I am having trouble enough maintaining any sort of Oriental austerity as it is.”

“Touché,” Travis chuckled, as he pointed at his friend with an arm miraculously still attached to his body.

Before leaving the compound they raided the pantry and the smoke house, stocking up on vegetables, hams, sausages and venison. They also took time to turn out the chickens and other stock so they could roam freely.

Two and a half hours later, they were back at the shore, looking across the bay to where their boats rocked gently at anchor. A jubilant Carlos, Christina, and Todd waved from the deck of the sailboat. Travis returned the wave, thanking God in a silent prayer that he was still able to do so.

“Let’s get out of this place,” he said. “I’m going to have nightmares about fat women and axes for a month of Sundays.”

The sensei smiled. “It is better to return home bearing terror of the battle, than to have not returned at all. Lunacy can be treated, death is incurable.”

“Ah, Oriental wisdom.”

“Winston Churchill.”

CHAPTER 15

After storing their newly acquired supplies, they upped anchors and were off again. With his “trip to hillbilly hell” behind him, Travis opted to rest for an hour or so. The preacher, equally worn out, followed suit. The sensei took the wheel of
The Odyssey
and Carlos kept the shrimper on course.

The winds kept the sailboat heeled and headed in the right direction, and the weather seemed to be warming slightly as they sailed northwest, making the trip even more pleasant. Travis slept for three hours, then went topside with Todd, who had stayed below with him while he slept. The boy appeared to be afraid to let Travis out of his sight.

As they sailed into the golden-red sunset, Travis recounted his harrowing adventure with Ma and the boys.

At the end of the story, Christina shook her head, “Travis, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with such a propensity for attracting trouble. On the other hand, you seem to be blessed with just enough luck to stay one step ahead of it.”