Barren Fields by Robert Brown Page B

flanking boats, and all of the men holding the guns look ready to use them. More likely, they are ready to use them again as it seems they have had a busy day.
    “Turn in circle,” the voice orders and all four comply. “Clap hands.”
    Now the orders are getting strange, and the four men glance at each other but still do as they are told and start clapping their hands.
    “Jump up and down,” the voice now calls.
    George is certain someone is screwing with them now, but the four men still comply and begin jumping up and down with their hands in the air.
    Frank looks the most ridiculous, because the towel he is wearing falls off as he begins jumping. Each of them expect the soldiers to start laughing at the gringos that they made jump and act like fools, but the guns remain aimed at them and no smiles or laughter erupts from the performance.
    “Is only you on boat?”
    “Yes, only the four of us,” George calls back.
    “Throw dock rope. We will board your boat.” That statement comes out quite clearly as it must have been issued many times over the years.
    George grabs the stern line, tosses it over to the closest patrol vessel, and drops the fenders over the side used to protect the boat from damage when docked. Then he moves to the front to throw the bow line over. The other three remain in the back with their hands in the air. George returns to the others and raises his hands again while his boat is secured to the patrol boat.
    Frank is allowed to climb up to the patrol boat while the soldiers motion to George, Keith, and Jack that they must remove their towels and shorts as well. They take them off and are ordered to spin around once again before being brought aboard the other vessel.
    “They had to check you for bites,” a man says in clear English as he walks up.
    “We figured as much,” George says in return.
    “My name is Thomas,” he says.
    “You can put hands down now,” the soldier that was talking over the speaker says as he walks up as well.
    “There is no one else on your boat, correct?” Thomas asks. “If you lie they will kill you.”
    “No one else is on board,” George says, and the others nod in agreement.
    “ B uscar el barco ,” the soldier commands, and the armed men board George’s boat to check its interior.
    “You have no more clothes on board?” the soldier asks looking curiously at George.
    “We had to leave quickly and our clothes were ruined. We have nothing else to wear.”
    George intentionally leaves out any mention of radiation. These men are on edge as it is and are obviously ready to kill anyone that is a danger to the area.
    “ C onseguir que la ropa ,” he says to another soldier that walks off.
    “They are getting you some clothes to wear. It’s a good thing you stopped as quickly as you did,” Thomas says. “As you can see by the burning boats in the water, not everyone is following orders today.”
    “Or not everyone is able to follow them,” George replies.
    “Who are you, and where are you going?” the soldier asks.
    “My name is George Beauchamp, this is Keith Roach, Frank, and Jack,” he says as he nods in each person’s direction. “We are going to a house I have on the west bank of the Coatzacoalcos River.”
    Thomas and the soldier speak to each other for a while in Spanish. His men return from George’s Viking, one of them says Todo claro and nods before walking away. Another soldier walks up carrying t-shirts and pants for the group. The man in charge speaks with Thomas again, while George and the rest start getting dressed. Before they are done, he says Good luck before shaking their hands and walking off. The second patrol boat cruises off after the all clear is relayed to them.
    “Once you are dressed you can get back on your boat and continue toward shore and into the river,” Thomas says before filling them in on what has been happening in the few moments they have left. “The infection first made it to shore here early