Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10) by A. American (best business books of all time .TXT) 📗

been all over this land and people in Wyoming and Utah do it just like people here in Lake County. And of course, people on the water. I think if more people did it, we’d be better off for it.

We were only on the lake for a few minutes and were entering the channel leaving the lake when Sarge called for me to slow down. I instinctively started scanning the not too distant shore but didn’t see anything. When I looked back to him to ask what was up, he was unscrewing the top of his thermos.

“Really? You’re stopping us so you can pour a cup of coffee?” I asked.

He waited until his cup was full and the lid back on the insulated bottle to answer. Holding the cup out, he said, “You have any idea how valuable this cup of coffee is here, in this place? There isn’t another cup for thousands of miles I’d guess. So, you’re damn straight I made you slow down so I didn’t spill any!”

“You done now? Can we continue?”

He stretched back out in his seat and replied, “If you’re waiting on me, you’re backing up. If you’d close that face hole, we’d be moving already.”

I shook my head and gunned the throttle. About the time he was adjusted to the G force of the acceleration, I immediately let off, causing him to rock forward. Then I gunned it again. I smiled when some of his precious coffee sloshed from the cup onto his hand. He looked back, glaring at me. I shrugged and said, “Weeds in the prop.”

Licking the coffee from his hand, he replied, “Better not be no more fucking weeds!”

Once I had us moving again, Danny looked back with a huge smile on his face and gave me the thumbs up. I grinned and nodded my reply. The ride down the channel leaving the lake was on smooth water. The sun was coming up and it made for a beautiful scene. This part of the river was totally uninhabited, and it was like stepping back in time. The river here looked just as it would have to native tribes that lived along its banks centuries ago. And we were approaching an area where they were known to have once lived.

Blue Springs State Park was just ahead. Its crystal-clear waters dumped into the tannin-stained waters of the river to make its way up to Jacksonville and into the Atlantic. The St Johns is one of only a couple of rivers in the world that flow from south to north as it slowly courses its way up the Florida peninsula.

Ordinarily, you couldn’t take your boat up to the spring. But these weren’t ordinary times. As Blue Springs Run came up, I asked, “You guys want to ride up into Blue Springs?”

Danny gave an enthusiastic nod. The old man just shrugged and sipped his coffee. I decided we’d go up and check out the spring and steered the boat into the small run. The water went from the dark brown the river was known for to crystal clear at a near perfect line. I slowed the boat and we cruised lazily up the narrow waterway.

The park was still there and there was plenty of evidence of people having been there since the Day. There was a campground and I wondered if anyone was living back there. We made it to the spring, as close as we could get anyway, without seeing a soul. Letting the boat idle, I reached down and scooped up a handful of water. It was cold, and I splashed it on my neck.

“Man, I’d love to go for a swim,” Danny said.

“It’d be nice,” I replied.

“We ain’t got time for that shit. This ain’t no pleasure cruise,” Sarge barked back.

“Keep your Depends on. No one said we were going for a swim, just that it would be nice,” I shot back.

“Get this damn thing turned around. We’ve done enough sightseeing.”

Danny looked over his shoulder and asked, “Tell me again; why did we bring him?”

“Because I said so!” The old man hollered.

“I have no idea,” I replied to Danny.

But I turned the boat around and we headed back down the run towards the river. As we motored slowly along, I said, “Damn, it would be nice to live here. To have this to yourself.”

“Yeah it would. I’d never be inside. I’d spend all day lying in that spring,” Danny said.

“I wonder if anyone is living in the Thursby house,” I said, giving voice to my thoughts.

“It’d be a good place. They still have the wood cookstove in the kitchen. It was built to live in without electricity,” Danny replied.

The house, a three-story wood-frame structure, was built in the late 1800s and added to in the early 1900s. It was the site of one of the first steamboat landings on the river. It would be the perfect place to live now. Located here at the spring, you’d have everything one could need.

“I’m betting someone is,” I said.

As the small bluff the house occupied came into view, I saw a man standing in the trees, looking out at us.

“Contact on the left!” I shouted.

Sarge immediately turned to the left as he picked up the Minimi. I waved to the man, but he didn’t wave back. Instead, he raised his rifle. Panic filled me as we were just idling along. I cried out, “Shit!” As I gunned the throttle. Sarge must have seen the man too, because at that same moment, he opened up with the machine gun and was thrown off balance by the sudden acceleration. Fountains of water erupted where bullets cut into it, then they were ripping limbs and leaves from the trees on the shore. But he got himself steadied and continued to pour fire into the trees on the side of the run as we made our escape.

We were almost into the river again, when I heard the very distinct sound of the Russian grenade launch pop. Danny had