Chapter 17: Shoo Dead

Two cups of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs, biscuits, and bacon later, Buck nosed their big flatbed truck down the drive towards the highway. He had an appointment down-river to meet a friend who was caretaker of the old Clayton Silver mine. It had been closed for several years and the friend had offered Buck several sheets of surplus 3/8-inch plate steel.

He was running a little late. Happy was in one of her ‘mothering’ moods this morning. She’d cheerfully nagged and ragged on him about keeping his annual appointment for a physical and cardiac checkup. Buck hated hospitals in general and medical appointments in particular; he avoided them whenever he could make up an excuse. Happy wasn’t having any of that. She’d found herself a good match and she sure as heck wasn’t going to lose him to neglect!

Uh-oh, Buck thought, what’s that thing doing in the middle of the cattle guard?

He swung the big truck over to the edge of the road and set the brake; he rolled down his window and listened and looked all around, ready for trouble. He saw nothing. He turned the key, pulled it from the ignition, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he grabbed the leather holster laying on the seat beside him, popped open its flap and slid the long-barreled .357 magnum revolver free. Holding it ready, he eased the door open and stepped down onto the gravel road.

He cautiously approached within ten feet of the carton to get a closer look. He saw no trip wires or anything leading to it. He walked over to one end of the cattle guard, knelt down, and peered between the bars to see if the carton had anything attached or pressed up against its bottom. There was nothing.

He walked back to the truck for the camera he’d brought along to take photos of surplus stuff from the Clayton mine. He walked back to within ten feet again and, circling around from side to side, he took a series of photos. He’d been immediately suspicious the moment he saw it. They’d ordered nothing recently and nobody ever left anything sitting in the middle of the drive, especially not on the cattle guard.

The carton was sheathed in heavy plastic film and heavily taped. He saw no label of any kind on its top or sides. It wasn’t a very large carton. He estimated it as maybe sixteen inches wide and deep, and eighteen inches high.

Just big enough to hold enough dynamite to blow me into the next county if I’m careless, he thought. All right, enough of this horse-pucky. It’s time to call in the troops!

He walked back to the truck, grabbed the breakdown triangles and, carefully stepping across the end of the cattle guard, he placed them at the entrance to stop any possible in-coming traffic. He pulled his portable transceiver from its belt holster and called the mine.

Yankee Girl base, Yankee Girl base, this is Buck.

A short moment later, Happy’s voice answered. He explained they had a problem. She was to roust Reese from whatever he was working on and tell him to call the Sheriff. He’d found a suspected package of explosives planted on their entrance road.

Ask him to bring a deputy. If it’s explosives, we’ll want to block the main road in both directions while we figure a way to deal with it. And when we’ve made it safe, if we can, he’ll want it for evidence. After he’s called, chase Reese down here. I need to talk to him.

A few minutes later Reese pulled up in his ATV. He walked all around the package, inspecting and searching for trip wires and triggers like Buck had done.

“I called Nelson. He’ll be here soon. And he agreed to have Mitch come in another unit. So...” Reese scratched the back of his head. “What the hell are we going to do about this?”

“Hey! You’re the special forces guy. Didn’t you spend all those years blowing shit up?” Buck growled.

“Well, yeah! Except I blew shit up. I didn’t go around disarming the stuff that blew up the shit!” Reese protested.

“Okay, understood. Let me think for a minute,” Buck answered

He walked a short ways down the drive, pivoted and walked back, slowly kicking loose rocks as he rubbed the back of his head, deep in thought. Then he called out, “Got it!”

Buck raced down the drive in the ATV, leaving Reese behind to guard the entrance. Soon Reese heard the rumble and ragged thumping of a diesel engine starting up with black smoke belching from the equipment shed. Within minutes, their D-7 Caterpillar tractor clattered into sight, turned a half circle, and lumbered away towards their repair shop.

By the time Sheriff Nelson and Chief Deputy Archer arrived in their cars, Buck was coming down the drive in the clattering crawler tractor, it’s dozer blade half-raised with a long steel pipe sticking forward like a stinger.

“What in blazes is that! Sheriff Nelson exclaimed.

“Yankee Girl Bomb Disposal Unit Mark 1, Mod 1,” Reese answered. “You didn’t think we were going to grab that box and shake it, did you?”

“Well, hell no, of course not. But what are you planning to do with that thing?

“Poke and prod, Fred. Poke and prod. See, that heavy dozer blade will shield any blast wave if it explodes, protecting the driver. After we poke and prod that box for awhile and if it doesn’t go ‘boom’ we should be safe to open it.”

“Should be safe! you say. So who’s gonna open that box after you’ve prodded it?” the Sheriff glared at Reese.

“What! You’re not going to exercise your official authority, Fred?” Reese danced back, dodging the Sheriff’s swipe at his shoulder.

“No, we’ll prod the hell out of it and if that doesn’t set it off, then I’ll cut it open. You all can stand back and watch. You might get your video camera out, just in case. It would be good footage for the Darwin Awards if we’re wrong about this.”

Reese walked over to Buck who sat at the idling crawler tractor’s controls. “Call it,” he yelled over the noise. He flipped a quarter in the air.

“Tails,” Buck yelled.

“Sorry, you lose,” Reese yelled back, shoving the quarter back in his pocket. He jumped up on the track and pushed Buck out of the seat, slipping himself behind the steering levers. Sheriff Nelson and Deputy Rogers jumped in their units and moved them down the road in opposite directions, stopping across the centerline with emergency lights flashing. Buck jumped in the flatbed truck and backed it down the road, parked it, and got out to wait behind the truck.

Reese engaged the clutch, rumbled forward, and lowered the dozer blade so the pipe extension pointed at the carton. The rig looked like a mechanical beast with a jousting lance. His first try missed. He stopped and swiveled the track, swung the pipe and batted the carton. He flinched, ducked his head lower, and when nothing happened he looked up again. He backed a little, then inched forward, and swiveled to bat the box from the other side. That scooted it sideways a few feet. Getting the feel of the machine and having the end of the pipe at the right height, he surged forward while pushing and rolling the carton several times, almost clear of the cattle guard. Then for good measure he backed slightly, lifted the blade just enough to raise the pipe above the box, and then moving forward a bit, he lowered the blade to bring the pipe down on the carton, lightly mashing it. Nothing happened.

“Hey,” Sheriff Nelson yelled from his car. “When you’re done torturing that package, why don’t you climb down and cut it open?”

Reese made a rude hand gesture, grinned, and backed the tractor away. He climbed down and walked to the carton, picked it up and jogged over to set it on the hood of the Sheriff’s car.

“Hey, you idiot! Let me get these units off the highway, okay?” he yelled at Reese. Reese clambered on the tractor to back it into the drive, and the sheriff and his deputy followed with their cars. Buck jogged up the drive to join them.

Reese with the three curious onlookers watching pulled out a knife and carefully slashed around three sides of the top of the carton. He inserted the knife tip and partially pried the top back; then he stopped.

“You know, guys, there’s something that just occurred to me. What if this thing has a motion-activated timer? It could be counting down right now with only five seconds to go!”

“Well you’re the clown who’s holding it! Look inside. If you see anything flashing, you’d damn well better throw it away, but not at our cars! Fred said, staring at Reese like he’d grown a second head.