This is an encounter that I cannot explain. In fact, you could say
that I have covered my tracks because there are those out there that live in
fear of me revealing what I saw. My family has lived in Florida since
late nineteen forties, when my grandfather retired from the Army Air Corps and built
a great life for himself. He thrived in this particular area of the state
with plenty of fishing and hunting. Now years later, I'm fifty one years
old and I'm a married father to three boys. Like my grandfather, we
too enjoy hunting and fishing. I'm a communications worker and I finally got a
weekend off to enjoy some rest and relaxation at the family lakehouse. I was
traveling east from Tampa Bay in my pickup truck pulling my airboat. I decided
to get fuel in Lithia, Lithi Lithia, I was fifty miles away from
my destination. It was a cloud eat during the summertime storm and I took
the back roads, which meant I lost only thirty minutes, making it a
scenic drive. I felt the right rear tire on my boat trailer go off
the shoulder and I soon realized that I had had a blowout. I pulled
over near the gate to a state park. Luckily, the lake house was
only a few miles away. There was a large black suv with tinted windows
parked nearby, and I couldn't tell if it was occupied or not. As
I changed my tire, a large man sporting a pony tail appeared behind my
trailer. A second man about my size, a little stocky but with a
slight beer belly, emerged from the suv and approached me. With my eye
on the man still lurking behind my trailer, I asked if they needed some
help. He told me that they had an air boat broken down on the
lake's edge and had the parts to repair it, but they could use the
lift. The man offered to pay me, but being a good guid and
fellow boater, I refused his money. We were joined by a third man
who was carrying twin duffel bags in a plastic toat. He threw everything into
my truck and I drove all of us to the nearest boat launch. Once
we were in the water, I asked for a GPS location. The man
with the beer belly said that he would direct me, adding that he knew
the area, but there was a lot of swamp in the way, and
that we'd have to run the slews near private property. We came upon a
fence line where the man asked me to idle the boat. Then he asked
the location of the pump house. LA pointed behind the tree line. Although
it occurred to me if he really knew the area, wouldn't he know where
the pump house was, one of the others silently directed me to kill the
engine. I began to think my good deed had put me in danger.
There was no broke down boat in sight. I was with three men whose
manner suggested drug smuggling. I began to wonder if the Duffel bags and the
toat they'd brought aboard held some kind of illegal substance. One of the men
pulled what looked like a drone from inside a plastic tote. There was a
camera attached, and the man took a minute to adjust the monitor on his
iPhone. The others unzipped the Duffel bags and began putting together assault rifles.
After the drone went airborne, they dinned night vision goggles and slid into the
shallow water, one at a time, their weapons above their heads as they
slushed toward the shore. What the hell's going on, I hissed, trying
to keep my voice slow. Is this legal? It's all good, he
promised. As soon as you hear me signal, crank up the engine and
be ready to gun it out of here. Well, I was starting to
panic. A few hours ago. I was just another week end slacker with
nothing but beer and fishing in my plans. Now I was to get away
driver for a bunch of wannabe hit man that, for all I knew,
were committing murders somewhere out there in the dark near my lake house. Suddenly
I heard something, and I looked up into the night sky and saw a
fireball ark gracefully over my head and hit the water a few feet from the
boat. I flashed my light toward the surface and saw what was left of
a drone before its mangled propellers sank under water. Then there were a series
of automatic rifle burst and men yelling, and I heard tall grass rustling and
tree branches breaking. Hit the engine, I heard the voice. Two of
the men came into view and dove into the water as I cranked the engine.
They scrambled onto the boat, but before I could ask about the third
I heard his screams coming from mid air as he went flying twenty feet beyond
us and hit the water with a mighty splash. Leave him, said one
of the men. Get us out of here now. I pivoted the boat
toward the man, who was flailing in the water as if he couldn't swim,
and I gripped his right arm to pull him aboard. As he howled
in pain, I realized his arm was broken. The others did help me
get him into the boat. Something whizzed by my head and landed on the
deck. It was an assault rifle. The muzzle bent like a pretzel.
I piloted that boat like a madman until we reached the launch. The others
climbed from the boat and they stumbled into the truck while I reloaded my boat
onto my trailer. They didn't say a word as I drove them back to
their suv. Let me help you wrap your buddy's arm, I offered,
We'll take care of him, snapped one of the men from the back seat
as he helped his injured companion out of my truck. Into their vehicle.
The last to exit opened the passenger door. What I mentioned earlier, we
need to settle up, he said, Look, I don't need anything from
you. Bonded, thinking that this guy getting the hell out of my life
would be payment enough. And suddenly his hand went from my throat. Not
a word of this to anyone, he said. Why. Stared long and
heart at his face until he let me go, And he kept his eyes
locked with mine as he climbed out of the truck, slamming the door with
enough force to underscore his threat. From my rear view mirror, I watched
him collect what was left of their supplies from the boat. He walked up
to my back bumper and he looked down and he reeled off a series of
numbers. It was my license plate. He winked at me and walked back
to the suv, and I watched their tail lights fade into the night.
It was unsettling. Instead of the lake house, I drove the ninety five
miles back home. I did what I was told, and I didn't tell
a soul about that night. In general, I behaved as if in witness
protection. It didn't stop me from thinking about what happened, though, with
their beer bellies and ponytails, I suspected the three men were not part of
any professional militia. At any rate, a good soldier would not leave a
battle buddy to drown with a broken arm. Whatever they tussled with out there
in the wilderness, it was savage enough to give them the beating of their
lives, but human enough not to kill them,