All Silent on the Flint

“Go ahead and let up your trolling motor. We’re deep enough to crank up.”

Sheriff brought the motor down and cranked it. It roared and the boat shot across the river, forming waves that slapped both sides of the banks.

They rode on top of the waves for about a mile, water slapping Jones in the face, wind howling. The loblolly pine trees lining the banks swayed and rotten limbs fell into the water.

And then Bobby was shouting over the wind and pointing at the body, floating facedown in the Flint River. Sheriff Jones killed the motor and tossed an anchor overboard.

"That her, Sheriff?"

"Sure is."





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