Author: Charles Wells
Category: Nonfiction
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/charles-wells/page,21,11504-the-beginning-(whispering-pines-book-1).html
Chapter 12
Blake Squires and Catfish were bouncing and rattling around inside the cab of the pickup truck along a heavily rutted timber road about eight miles north of the Beaver Dam site. Catfish, in his laid back southern country accent, said, “These here trees do look good. I bet most of ‘em is on the high side of thirty years old.”
Blake was also admiring the heavy stand of trees. He couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want to flood such beautiful land and sloping valleys. He could see turning it into a subdivision with million dollar homes but not 50 feet beneath the surface of the water.
He steered the truck around another deep rut in the road and said, “The trees are in good shape too. No pine weevils or blight. We can start bringing in equipment Monday because I’ll have my copy of the court order by then. That will keep the gates of the dam open until November like we originally planned.”
“Where you gonna’ get those papers? Your place got busted up pretty good in the robbery, didn’t it?”
“There are copies we just have to find them.”
They looked at each other and Catfish smiled but the smile turned to a frown when the truck rounded a sharp curve in the trail and before them stood a rough looking figure of a man in the middle of the road, feet planted firmly across the center rut. Blake had to swerve the truck into some high weeds to avoid hitting him. When things stopped bouncing and jerking, he snapped, “Who in the devil is that?”
Catfish turned and looked back. “That must be Ed Barton. I heard he’s been hanging around up this way for a while. He’s an old trapper I think.”
Barton, as Blake could see, was not an old man. His clothes were ragged, his hair was unkempt, and the man hadn’t shaved in several months. There was also something strange about the man’s appearance. Nothing fit the stereotype of a trapper.
Blake backed the truck out to the road again and stopped. Barton, grinning from ear to ear, stepped up to Catfish’s window, lifted a dirty hand, and said, “Yo. How ya’ll doin’?”
“Are you okay? I didn’t see you until I was around the curve. Sorry.”
The reek of stale animal skins and rotted flesh drifted into the truck’s cab. Even the rough and tumble Catfish flinched at the odor. Barton, if he noticed at all, ignored him and replied. “I’m just dandy. How ‘bout ya’ll?”
“Are you Barton?” Blake asked.
“Depends on who’s asking,”
I’m asking. We heard you were up in these parts. Why were you standing in the middle of the road like that?
Barton shrugged “I’m just out gatherin’ my trap lines. I had to cross the road here somewhere and this was it. If I’d a heard yawl coming’ I’d of stepped out of the way. Now don’t you boys go back to town and tell nobody what I’m doing up here. Okay?”
Catfish spoke. “Ed? You’re gonna’ get caught one of these days. There’s laws ‘bout trappin’ critters out of season.”
The man spat tobacco juice on the ground beside the truck and shrugged. “Ain’t nobody caught me in 22 years so that don’t worry me none. A man’s gotta’ make a living and besides, they’re fixing to drown most of the critters that don’t move out of here. For that matter, what are you fella’s doin’ way up here?”
Blake pointed at the tree line, “We’re cruising timber. We’ll be coming in here next week to cut it before the water covers it up.”
Barton spat again, this time in distaste. “You can come get your trees out of the way easy enough but that dam is gonna’ cost me half of my best trap routes.”
Catfish was in pain from the smell. He wiped the sweat from his forehead saying, “Let’s get to rollin’, Blake. It’s gettin’ hotter than a snake’s back in the sun inside this here rust bucket.”
Blake tossed a hand up to Barton, “We better go. We’ll see you later and if you need a lift back to town you can catch us on the way out.”
“Yea” Catfish cried. “But you gotta’ ride in the back of the truck.”
“I appreciate it, but I don’t need any lift. The fact is I know where my own pretty blue car is hidden just in case I take a notion to ride.”
“Really? You got a car stashed away up here somewhere? Well, it must be stolen or something or else you’d be driving it right now.”
“That’s exactly what I figured...it’s stolen and stashed down at the bottom of the creek down yonder.”
“If it’s at the bottom of the creek it sure ain’t gonna’ take you no place.”
”Blake held a hand at Catfish asking, “Where on the creek, Barton?”
The man spat, thought a second, “Well, I found it ‘bout a week ago. I reckon I should have told somebody. Whoever put it in the creek tore up one of my best trotlines in the process ripped that sucker right out of the tree I’d hung it from.”
Blake asked again, “Where, Barton?”
“It’s just above turtle bend. Ya’ll know where that’s at?”
Catfish shrugged when Blake looked over with raised eyebrows. “How far is it from here, Barton?”
The man pointed a dirty finger down the logging road, “Just follow this here cow path about another mile. That’ll put the creek just off in the woods to your right. You’ll see where an old timber bridge crosses. If you walk down stream about 30 yards you’ll come to a sharp bend. That’s turtle bend...can’t miss it if you tried. You can see the car underwater from the bank if’n the light is right and it’s blue as all blue blazes...probably sittin’ under ten feet of water but that’s changin’ fast. The creek is risin’ pretty fast these last couple of days.”
“Rising? It’s too dry for that, Barton. You must be mistaken... but thanks. We’ll check it out in a few minutes.”
As the old truck rattled and squeaked away, Catfish looked at Blake, “What’s all the excitement about an old car in the creek?”
Blake shot him a firm look. “Matt Veal drives a blue Trans Am.”
“You figure this car old Barton is talkin’ about belongs to Matt?”
“Let’s just go see if that car at the bottom of the creek is blue or not...and there’s something else bothering me.”
“What’s that?”
“Barton said he didn’t hear the truck coming. Well, either he’s deaf or he’s lying. A person could hear this clanking, squeaking pile of rust coming from a mile away.”
Catfish laughed. “That’s fer sure.”
Beaver creek was thirty feet wide as it passed underneath the wooden timber bridge. The water was a mysterious, dark black, typical for deep natural springs in a swamp. At first glance, the bridge looked passable and sturdy enough to hold the truck but Blake made a mental note to inspect it more closely from the base before sending any of his heavy equipment across. Running water was a funny thing and could cut the foundation out from underneath a pile support.
He parked the truck and looked around. Catfish remarked, “I don’t see how anybody could have driven a car down that way because the bank aint wide enough.”
“Yea, but Barton did say the creek was rising. If that’s true then a week ago, it was much lower. Let’s go take a look.”
They got out of the truck, looked around and then started down the soggy creek bank. In one place, the tree line was less than four feet from the edge of the water. Catfish shook his head in disgust, “They’d never get a bulldozer past here, let alone a car.”
Blake pointed at the water line. “Look. The creek is running higher than normal. I don’t see any high water marks on the trees so the creek must be rising. That would make the bank wide enough to drive a car down or have it pulled by a tractor or something.”
“I’ll have to admit that if I wanted to get rid of it then this would be the place. Another year or so and where we’re standing right now is going to be fifty feet under water.”
They walked on. When they reached a place where the creek made a sharp curve, Blake looked around, “Barton said it was at the curve. I guess this is where he was talking about.”
Th
ey stared into the water but the surface was moving too fast to see with any depth. Then, where the bend sharpened, Blake spotted a glitter of bluish light from beneath the surface.
He pointed, “Something’s under there, Catfish. It’s about fifteen feet out. Do you see it?”
Catfish leaned forward, “Yep...just barely...but I can’t tell what it is. The water’s too deep.”
“You got a bathing suit with you?” Blake asked.
“I take it ever place I go... been wearing it since the day I was born” he said and started stripping off his clothes.
Blake, keeping his eyes glued to the spot in the water, waited while Catfish stripped down to just his shorts and started out into the water. When he was standing knee deep he yelled, “Where to, boss?”
Blake pointed then said, “Light refracts as it travels through water. I learned that as a kid. I use to gun fish with a .22 rifle. If you aimed directly at what you saw in the water, you would miss it a mile. You have to aim below the target.
Catfish waded a little deeper into the water and shouted, “God all mighty. This water is cold as all...”
“Catfish, you ain’t had your bath this month no how, so get moving.”
The creek water was surprisingly cold considering the air temperatures even in the shade were hitting 90 degrees. Blake saw chill bumps on Catfish’s back. “Just ease on over toward the bend and poke your head underwater. It won’t take but a second to look.”
“Poke my head into this cold stuff?” Catfish shouted. “Shoot. I’d rather poke it into the south end of a north bound....”
Catfish suddenly disappeared beneath the water’s surface. Blake smiled because he had already seen the darker shades of the water and figured there had to be a sharp drop off where the creek bottom had eroded away. He thought Catfish had seen it or would at least have felt it with his toes but he didn’t and had fallen well over his five foot six body height.
His head popped back up to the surface with a stunned expression on his face. He cried, “Lordy. I’m swimmin’ in ice. The darn bottom drops off like a rock along in here. I didn’t see that. Did you?”
Blake shook his head; he would never admit otherwise... and pointed again for Catfish to keep moving. “It’s along in there so take a look”
With a deep breath, Catfish disappeared beneath the surface. Blake watched the whitish outline go deep and then vanish. Tiny bubbles burst on the water’s surface and the seconds ticked away. Blake started to worry because such cold water could cause muscle cramps. Almost a minute went by and Blake bit his lower lip. Just when he decided Catfish was at the verge of drowning, his head reappeared on the surface. He drifted in the current before finding a protruding tree root to grab and hold onto. Still gasping harshly for breath he yelled, “It’s here and it’s Matt’s car.”
He waited a few seconds, then pushed off from the root and swam back toward the Blake.
Blake extended his hand and pulled him out and onto the sandy banks. Still breathless, Catfish stated, “That is Matt’s Trans Am down there. I tried to open the door but it’s stuck closed. I didn’t have enough breath left to look around inside much. The winders are down but the door wouldn’t budge.”
Blake took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With one hand, he scooped a handful of sand up and tossed it at the water. “That’s okay. You did look inside real good? Didn’t see anything?”
“It’s empty, I’m pretty sure. There ain’t anybody in there that I can see. Don’t know about the trunk? You ‘reckon there’s somethin’ in the trunk?”
“I don’t know but we have to find out” Blake said feeling his guts sinking deeper.
He stood and walked a short distance away as Catfish got dressed again.
“I guess the first thing we do is call Bill Jacobs and then we call Chuck.” Blake said. “I sure don’t want to be the one who makes that phone call.”
Catfish watched Blake reach for his cell phone and flip it open. “I don’t know if that cell phone will get out of this here low bottom swamp or not. I had trouble with it on that Tankerton job last month just south of here.”
Blake checked the phone for signal strength, saw none, and said, “I’ll drive back up the hill over yonder. Maybe the phone can hit the tower from there.”
Blake looked back at Catfish, “Stay here until I get back.”