by Tom Abrahams
She redirected herself, heading straight for the weapon. Reaching it, she checked the horizon and saw the oncoming threats, the dust like a tornado roaring toward them.
Lou moved the distance to the horse and checked the progress of the chained women. Two more of them were free of their binds. They appeared confused, their shoulders hunched, stature diminished by whatever torture their captors had forced them to endure. One woman was on her knees, pounding her fists against the back of the dead coyote facedown at the water’s edge. She was screaming something at him. Another woman was tugging at her, unsuccessfully trying to pull her away from the corpse.
Lou reached the horse and found the nine millimeter in its holster. She sighed with relief that the horse had fallen on this side and not the other. She got the pistol. A moment later, the beautiful, powerful horse was no longer in pain. Lou wanted to puke. She dry heaved, bending over at her waist, spittle trailing a line from her lips toward the ground. She quickly checked the progress of the advancing soldiers and cursed under her breath.
Spinning around, her free hand pressing against the underside of her belly, she waved Andrea forward.
“You!” she shouted. “Get over here. Use the horse as cover and get ready to fire.”
Andrea did as she was told, bringing Javier with her. They hurried toward the horse and found a spot up against its saddle.
Lou scanned the collection of women and children and found the other one holding a rifle. She called out to her and checked the advancing troops.
“You too,” she said. “C’mon. Get next to…”
“Andrea,” said the woman already staking her position behind the horse.
Lou flashed a smile at Andrea, her son, and then shot a solid look at the other woman. She aggressively waved her to a spot next to Andrea. She spun back to the others.
“Stay low,” she said. “There’s going to be a lot of gunfire. I don’t want you getting hit. Might even be best if you scatter a little. Head out into the water if you can.”
The women looked at each other, paralyzed. Lou balled one hand into a fist and tightened her grip on the handgun with the other.
“Now!” she bellowed.
That shook the others into action. Lou counted them quickly. There were five women, six children, and one infant. They were up against six armed men. Lou didn’t love the odds, given their lack of firepower. It would have to do. She took her place by the horse’s head, stroked its mane, and dropped to one knee.
“All right,” she said to the women beside her at the horse. “When I tell you, I want you to pull those triggers. Keep pulling them until they’re empty.”
The women nodded. The one named Andrea looked more confident. She squared her shoulders. Her finger found the trigger.
Lou wrapped both hands around the pistol. She exhaled and leveled the weapon. The horsemen were close enough now she could see all but one of them had rifles up and ready to shoot.
Lou thought they’d be slow to open fire. Their first goal was to take pregnant women alive. She figured dead women didn’t do them any good until after they’d given birth. She was wrong.
No sooner had the woman next to her settled into her position than her head snapped back and she fell to the ground. An instant later, the crack of the rifle that fired the deadly shot reached Lou. One shot, one dead woman.
Lou exchanged a look of surprise with Andrea, and then both of them found their resolve. Andrea tightened her hold on her rifle and returned fire. Hot casings spit from the side of the rifle, clinking as they flipped from the weapon and bounced.
Lou tucked the handgun at her aching hip and took the rifle from the dead woman beside her. She pulled it to her shoulder, found the trigger, and pulled.
The men were almost on top of them now. Six of them. Then five of them. Four now.
Lou ignored the shrieks and cries behind her. She shifted positions, targeting the men atop their galloping Appaloosas. Next to her Andrea yelled something about being out of ammunition at the moment the remaining three horsemen peeled away, turning around to race away from them.
One of the felled men got up. He picked up his rifle and set up behind another dead horse. He didn’t take aim. He was hiding.
Three men on horses and one with a position. Lou liked the numbers much better now. Especially since it appeared the three riding away weren’t coming back yet. Still, with the man behind the horse, they weren’t in the clear. He could pick them off one by one.
Lou took her finger from the trigger, and the echo of gunfire quieted. She checked with Andrea. “You okay?”
Andrea looked over the rifle. She still had it aimed downrange despite being out of ammunition. Her voice trembled when she spoke. “Yes,” she said, “I’m okay. You?”
Lou winced at the pain in her hip and she shifted her weight. “Yeah. Your boy?”
Andrea moved the rifle and looked at her son. Javier had his back pressed against the saddle, his knees to his chin, eyes closed, hands pressed to his ears. The boy had made himself as small and insulated from the violence around him as he could. Andrea reached out and touched him, startling him. He jerked away from her before relaxing. His eyes opened and he flung his arms around his mother’s side.
Lou’s eyes welled. She shouldn’t be here. She should be with David. How long had she left him now? Could he hear the gunfire from inside the funeral home? How scared he must be. How alone.
“Hey!” called the Pop Guard soldier from his covered position twenty feet from Lou. “We’ve got more men coming. You’re done for. You’re so done.” The man’s voice was trembling with pain. It cracked and pitched as he spoke. “You should give up.”
It was a plea as much as it was counsel, Lou thought. She couldn’t see him behind the dead horse Andrea must have accidentally shot. Or maybe she intentionally shot it. Lou couldn’t know for sure. Neither of them had been expert shots. They’d unloaded countless rounds and only taken out three of the men.
“You should drop your weapons and raise your hands,” the soldier said, his voice warbling. He grunted. “Otherwise they’re gonna come in hot and take down all of you. Don’t matter if you’re pregnant or not.”
In her peripheral vision she saw shades of movement. She swung to her right and saw three women moving forward, away from the water. Two of them had one hand raised and the other gripping a child. The third had a child beside her and an infant in her arms. The women were soaking wet. Their dresses or shirts clung to their distended bellies, accentuating their pregnancies. Lou watched them and unconsciously touched her own belly. The baby kicked underneath her hand.
“We’ll give up,” said one of the women, exhaustion threading her voice. “We don’t want to die. We’re giving up.”
Lou clenched her jaw. She and Andrea exchanged another glance.
“Please don’t shoot us,” said the woman with the infant in her arms.
On the horizon, the three horsemen had disappeared. They’d found the highway and bolted, she supposed.
“He’s bluffing,” she said. “They’re not coming back. They’re gone.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “I’m not bluffing.”
The woman with the infant looked toward the man and back at Lou.
Lou shook her head. “Nobody’s coming for him. He’s buying himself time.”
“They’re coming,” the man insisted. “A bunch more. They’re at the funeral home.”
Lou’s stomach twisted.
“One of you is named Lou, right?”
Her head swam. She was nauseated. Bile rose in her throat, and her tongue was suddenly thick in her mouth. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. How could he—
“We’ve got your kid,” said the man. “David. Now they’re coming back for you.”
CHAPTER 24
APRIL 20, 2054, 3:00 PM
SCOURGE +21 YEARS, 7 MONTHS
GUN BARREL CITY, TEXAS
David stood in the parking lot, a soldier gripping his arm. Another s
tood across from them holding a bloody knife, shaking it as he appeared to chastise the boy. He spat as he spoke. His face and neck were red; a large blood vessel strained against the skin along the side of his neck.
There were four horses tied to a telephone pole, their saddles empty. Another five were closer to the front of the funeral home. Two of them had riders. Pop Guard soldiers. Armed. Impatient looks on their scowling faces.
Three more horses appeared from the opposite side of the highway. They were galloping. The men atop them looked shaken. Ashen.
The red-faced man with the bloody knife turned his attention to them. He shouted something and started pointing the knife at various horses and men.
The soldier holding David by the arm yanked him toward the four horses at the telephone pole, almost dragging him across the lot. The boy trudged and tripped alongside his captor.
“What do we do?” Dallas asked from the passenger seat of the truck. He looked ready to jump out of his skin, one hand white-knuckling the dash. “What do we do, Marcus? They’ve got my boy.”
Marcus took the binoculars from Dallas and rubbed the scruff on his chin. The stubble was rougher, coarser since he’d gone gray.
“Be patient,” he said to Dallas. “I know it’s tough. But give it a second.”
“Where the hell is Lou? What happened to her? She would never leave David alone.”
Dallas turned to Marcus, his eyes glistening, his chin quivering. He wanted reassurance that wasn’t coming. Marcus wasn’t one to paint a rosy picture or even offer a best-case scenario. It was better to have low expectations and exceed them than to expect the best and fall short.
“They don’t see us,” Marcus said. “We’ve got the advantage. They’re not gonna hurt your boy, I don’t think. There’s no advantage to that. They’ll conscript him or sell him.”
“That’s Lou’s knife,” said Dallas. “The bloody one. This isn’t good. It’s not good, Marcus. We shouldn’t have spent the night at home. We should’ve come straight here.”
Marcus watched the men mount their horses. The four at the telephone pole stayed there, where they had tied David. He struggled, protesting, to no avail.
“Who ties a kid to a pole?” Dallas spat.
Marcus noticed that of the five horses not tied to the pole, only four had riders. Then there were the three who’d arrived moments earlier. Seven men, twelve horses. Something didn’t add up.
“I think your boy got the best of one of them,” said Marcus. “He know how to use that knife?”
Dallas nodded. “Yeah. He can throw better than me.”
“I’m pretty sure that blood isn’t Lou’s. Now just hang back a second. Wait for them to leave. Then we’ll grab David.”
Marcus raised and lowered the binoculars again. They were a hundred yards from the parking lot on the north side of the highway. They’d rolled slowly through the town, cruising above an idle, when they’d heard the echo of gunshots. Marcus recognized it as semiautomatic rifle fire. There was a brief firefight closer to the reservoir, so they’d headed that way. Marcus stopped the truck behind an old gas station and turned it off when he saw the collection of large horses he’d learned were standard issue for Pop Guard.
Now all but one of the soldiers took off, south, across the highway toward the reservoir. The lone man left behind was on his horse, keeping an eye on David.
“All right,” said Marcus. “Let’s go get your boy.”
“How are we doing this?” asked Dallas.
“I don’t know. But why don’t you hide in the back. I don’t want David recognizing you and ruining the surprise.”
Dallas flashed a concerned look at Marcus but obliged. He shouldered his way from the truck, closed the door as quietly as possible, and climbed into the bed. Marcus motioned for him to lie down. He did.
Marcus pushed the ignition and started the truck. Shifting into gear, he pushed down on the gas pedal and eased onto the highway. In less than thirty seconds they were pulling into the parking lot. He rolled down the window and waved with his left hand. His left knee guided the wheel as he braked to a stop.
The soldier had his rifle raised, aiming it through the open window as he walked his horse a safe distance from the truck. He scowled. Despite the seriousness on his face, the hardened jaw and angry eyes, Marcus could see the soldier was young. The kid couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty. He had his finger on the trigger.
Marcus smiled broadly, faking an affable grin. Of all the things that described him, affable was not one of them.
“Howdy,” he said, using the greeting he’d heard so many Texas Aggies use before the Scourge. “Need some help?”
“No,” the soldier snapped. “You’d best mind your own business.”
Marcus winked and pointed at David. The kid was crying, his lips red and pouty, his shoulders shuddering.
“No problem,” he said. “Just passing through. But I saw the boy and thought you might need some help. Kids can be a handful. I could pay you for him.”
The soldier’s expression was unchanged. He motioned toward the highway, jerking the barrel to the east. “I said mind your business. Otherwise I’m gonna be—”
The guard didn’t see Dallas until after he’d pulled the trigger. By then it was too late to do anything about it. The first shot hit his hand and kicked the rifle from his grip. The second drilled into his shoulder and jerked him in the saddle. The third, from the gun in Marcus’s right hand, tore through his chest.
Stunned and still trying to finish his sentence, the soldier wobbled before slumping forward. His face smacked against the saddle as the spooked horse took off in a sprint. The kid fell to the side, his foot caught in the stirrup. The Appaloosa dragged him across the highway and out of sight within seconds.
Dallas jumped from the back of the truck and sprinted the short distance to his son. He hugged him, kissed his head, and wiped his tears.
Marcus stepped from the cab and took a couple of steps toward the two. David looked just like Lou. Dark skin, piercing eyes.
“Best untie him,” said Marcus.
Dallas furrowed his brow with confusion, then nodded and worked at the binds on his son’s wrists. He squatted on his heels, freed his son, and took him by the shoulders. “You’re okay?” he asked. “They hurt you?”
David shook his head. He was still crying, snot leaking from his nose.
“Where’s your mom?” Dallas asked. “What happened?”
David pointed with a shaking finger across the highway, then buried his head in his father’s neck.
Marcus backed away, moving toward the truck. “You stay with the boy,” he said. “I’ll go get Lou.”
Dallas wrapped his arms around David and closed his eyes.
Marcus climbed into the cab and had the truck in gear before he’d shut the driver’s side door. He pressed the gas pedal to the floorboard, and the truck’s tires squealed against the asphalt. Smoke poured from the burning rubber, an acrid odor filled the cab, and the truck jerked forward. Marcus spun the wheel and bounced across both lanes of the highway.
He drove straight across the road to one extending south toward the reservoir. Marcus had both hands on the wheel, almost standing on the pedal. The engine roared and the truck accelerated as he steered it onto the dirt, past a clump of dead trees, and down a slope onto an expansive clearing.
It reminded Marcus of the Middle East, the barren wastelands of sand and dust bathed in bright sunshine. The truck bounced him in his seat, and his hands guided the wheel. Ahead of him he could see the seven horsemen riding toward the water’s edge. At the water there were two large dark figures and a collection of smaller ones.
“C’mon,” Marcus urged the truck faster and faster along the flat stretch of dry lake bed. “C’mon.”
The speedometer told him he was doing fifty. Then fifty-five. It didn’t feel fast enough. The horsemen were too close to the figures at the water’s edge. One of them, he assumed, was Lou.
&nbs
p; He laid on the horn, pressing it again and again. His palm pressed hard into the center of the wheel.
Two of the seven horses peeled away and started riding toward him. Marcus bore down on them, aiming for them. A flash of light from one of them preceded a pop in his windshield. A crack spidered vertically. A second flash and a second pop.
This time the windshield exploded, shards of glass splintered from the large pieces of glass that hung together from the frame at its edges.
Marcus took his foot off the accelerator and pressed the brake. As the truck slowed, he steered hard to the right. The rear tires spun and the truck drifted. Marcus’s driver’s side window faced the oncoming horsemen now. He was within forty feet of them when he leveled his weapon and pulled the trigger, aiming at one and then the other.
In the distance, near the water, he was vaguely aware of more flashes of light as he repeatedly fired his weapon. Errant rifle shots clunked against the truck. One hit a tire and Marcus felt the truck rock, shift, and tilt. But his aim was truer than the riflemen on horseback.
Both the men dropped from their saddles and hit the dirt with sickening slaps. Their necks and arms twisted oddly when they landed. Blood leached onto the clay-closed dirt, draining into the cracks that made the ground look like someone had twisted an ice tray, loosening the pieces but leaving them in place.
The truck came to a stop and Marcus put it into park. He jumped from the cab, his knee screaming at him when he landed, and hobbled to the horses feet from him. He grabbed a rifle and swung himself into a saddle, kicked his heels into the horse’s sides, and rode toward the strobing flashes of gunfire at the water’s edge some hundred yards away.
***
Lou grimaced. She twisted the knife before pulling it out of the guard’s neck. Blood drained from him as he slumped to the dirt. She’d attacked him, using the surrendering women as a distraction as she crossed the distance between the two dead horses and then dove over the soldier’s cover. She drove the blade hard, coming in high and from the side. He grabbed at her hand, struggling for a few seconds before he spasmed and went limp. His words rang in Lou’s ears.
