Copperheads - 12

by Joe Nobody

  “Mom passed the hours playing solitaire with an old deck of bicycle cards and making lists of chores that needed to be accomplished the next day. It was all pretty tranquil until October. The winds changed again, this time shifting to roar out of the north and bringing a deep chill with them,” she said, shivering at the memory.

  Butter knew that Lake Amistad’s southern latitude normally meant mild winters. Snow was extremely rare this far south in Texas, a light frost only the occasional visitor. May seemed to read his thoughts, “Since its creation, this reservoir has never experienced even the thinnest layer of ice,” she said. “Just our luck that it almost froze that winter.”

  “The temperature dipped into the low 40’s and stayed there for days on end. I know that doesn’t sound like much if you’re suffering sub-zero weather in Chicago or Detroit. Hell, our weather would have been considered a blessing to those poor souls. But to us, it was an extreme hardship. Texas homes aren’t built for cold weather, and we don’t have any sort of wood-burning stove or fireplace. There wasn’t a single heavy coat in our closets.”

  Butter was now hanging on the pain in her words. “What did you guys do?”

  She didn’t answer for a second, ignoring his question at first. “The worst part was the lack of food. When the temperature dropped, the lake’s schools of bass and crappie headed for deeper, warmer waters. Day after day, we returned from the fishing pier emptyhanded. The plants all went into hibernation. The ducks migrated south. Our already bare cupboard soon gathered nothing but dust.”

  “Ouch,” he said, the ache in her words making it obvious what was coming next.

  “I’ll never forget the hunger,” she whispered. “I was already pretty thin, but starvation is a whole different animal. The headaches came first, followed by the inability to focus, and then the loss of short-term memory. I couldn’t sleep. After a while, even accomplishing the simplest task became nearly impossible. I remember crying one morning because I couldn’t figure out how to tie my shoes.”

  Butter’s grip on her hand tightened, “You made it. You’re here. You survived, and only a very strong person can make it through something like that.”

  “Thanks,” she said quietly. “It got worse. Much worse. It seemed like Mother Nature’s cruelty knew no limits that first winter. I am sure it was one of the coldest on record … if there had been anyone around to keep such statistics. The sky was grey and overcast for days. The wind howled out of the north. Since then, I’ve learned that staying warm forces the human body to consume more calories. The constant cold made our situation all the more desperate around here.”

  Something changed in May. Butter felt her frame tense, and her expression became angry. “One morning, April announced that we had to leave the lake. She said that we hadn’t seen anyone else in the area for weeks. She argued bitterly that we had to go and find food if we expected to survive.”

  “Mom kept asking her why she thought every crumb and morsel hadn’t already been found and eaten. She kept saying, ‘What makes you think we have enough strength left to even walk a few miles? No. We are staying here in our home. The weather will break soon, and the fish will return.’”

  Butter frowned, “Where did April think she would find food?”

  “I don’t know. None of us were thinking clearly. You can’t focus your mind when you’re that weak. I remember April saying that she hadn’t eaten anything but one scrawny frog leg in the last week. She kept saying that by now the raping and pillaging would be over … that people surely had begun to organize and rebuild. There had to be someone that could help us, she argued. Good people must still be alive somewhere.”

  “Mom didn’t buy it. She and April wasted so much energy fighting. I can still hear them, mom yelling, ‘What makes you think that evil has played itself out?’ And then, ‘You and your bohemian attitude. You’ve been like that since you were a little girl. Never afraid of strangers, always optimistic and hopeful. Always assuming people were good and trustworthy. I love you for it, and yet it has always worried me to no end. Your naivety will get you killed, especially in these times.’”

  “I take it your sister didn’t listen?”

  “Back and forth the debate raged. Mom and I trying to convince April that the world outside the bubble of our little, isolated marina was still a dangerous place. She wouldn’t budge though, convinced that we were starving for no good reason, absolutely certain that there must be help out there somewhere.”

  Now May’s voice grew low, telling the story like she was reading from the pages of some novel. “The next morning we found the note. It said, ‘I am going to find food and help. I’ll be back in a few days. I have to leave now, while I still have the strength to walk. I love you both. April.’”

  “Not good,” Butter mumbled, now fully understanding what had happened to the mysterious April, and what the sister she had left behind was forced to endure.

  “I exploded out of the door after reading that scrap of paper, the adrenaline surge giving me more strength than I knew existed. I jogged down the long lane leading to the marina and began the trek south along the road toward town. In less than a mile, I heard a strange sound drifting past. It was a noise I hadn’t heard in months. An engine. A car … or truck. I thought for a second that maybe April had been right. Maybe civilization’s recovery hadn’t expanded to our little spot on the lake, and we had been suffering for no good reason.”

  Butter could understand her logic. The three women, holed up in the remote marina, wouldn’t have had any idea what was really happening in the world outside.

  “I kept going, wandering alongside the road, ready to run for cover or dive into the underbrush. Some little voice kept telling me the situation was dangerous. When the motor sound grew louder, I really got scared. Who had a car? Who had gas? It was all so … so … surreal. Strangers were dangerous; the pirates had proven that. Somehow, I managed to keep going, but every step was hard. I was like an edgy rabbit ready to dash down its hole.”

  “And?”

  “When I crested the next rise, I saw it. A dark spot against the brown and auburn shades of the horizon. I darted off the road to hide behind a small bush. The engine stopped, and then I could hear voices. I just stayed put for a while, listening, trying to get my heart to stop pounding. It was like this tug-of-war inside my head. The strangers might have food. They also might kill me … or worse. If it hadn’t been for April’s little disappearing stunt, I would have probably tried to run for home.”

  “So what did you do?” Butter asked, clearly intrigued by her story.

  “I had to find April,” she answered with conviction. “But I was so weak when the adrenaline rush wore off. I stumbled from that cluster of scrub to a small gully that let me get a bit closer to the pickup without being seen. I don’t remember ever being so terrified, but I wasn’t about to let the only sign of civilization I’d seen in months drive away before I knew what was going on.”

  Then the girl changed again, her eyes growing wet before any more words came out. “I spotted a handful of men gathered around the truck, the black barrels of their guns pointing in the air,” she sniffed. “They were huddled around a rear tire, almost as if it had gone flat. There was something else in the back of the truck bed, an odd shape. A cage.”

  Butter’s eyes opened wide. He hadn’t been expecting that turn of events.

  “I could hear them. Spanish words drifted across the sandstone and shale. They were shouting questions like, ‘Where did you come from?’ and ‘How many people are there?’”

  “They were shouting at April, weren’t they?” Butter asked, already knowing the answer.

  Nodding, May replied, “Yes. I couldn’t hear her response. Either I was still too far away, or she wasn’t answering. Something in the men’s tone caused a streak of icy cold to pulse through my core. These men were hostile. They had guns. They were interrogating someone, and in my heart, I knew it was April. Just then, one of them bent over and yanked my
sister upright. I was stunned, watching as she was shoved violently toward the back of the truck and then crammed into that damn, awful, horrible cage. The metallic clank of the door slamming shut was so clear, it almost made me puke. I hurried to stand up too fast, became dizzy, and fell to the dirt.”

  “Oh, Lord, May. Now I understand what you said before about believing she was still alive. Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  “They turned toward the south and sped off. I caught one last glance of my sister’s horrified face, staring out between the bars. A minute later, the truck had disappeared into the distance. We’ve not seen or heard from her since.”

  Chapter 6

  Bishop and Terri watched the Blackhawk raise its nose and bleed off speed. Both parents were more than a little nervous about their son’s first flight on a helicopter and held their breath as the pilot began the final maneuvers to touch down.

  The downdraft kicked up a swirling cloud of southern Texas grit as the wheels gently impacted what had once been a small shopping mall’s parking lot. It had taken several moments before the air cleared enough for mom and dad to spot Nick holding their son.

  Hunter looked tiny in the big man’s massive arms as Nick pointed toward the eager parents, trying to get the lad to wave and smile. The boy refused to cooperate, however, remaining fixated on the pilot’s cluttered dashboard of gauges and blinking lights.

  Diana’s security team was the first to deploy, hustling out of the copter’s bay and moving off to augment the perimeter already established by a handful of deputies and the rest of Bishop’s team. Since the Alliance leader’s visit was unannounced, her protection detail was at the bare minimum.

  Despite Nick’s famous work ethic and business-first attitude, Bishop noted the big guy scanning the area for his own son. After Hunter had been passed to his mother’s anxious arms, the Texan pointed toward a rooftop just over 500 meters away and explained, “He’s over there, Nick, pulling counter-sniper duty. I’ll bring him down as soon as Diana is in a vehicle.”

  A few minutes later, they were all loaded into four of Sheriff Watt’s SUVs and rolling toward the marina.

  The houseboat’s main salon was more than spacious enough to host the meeting, which started after Mr. McCarthy’s arrival and subsequent search by Diana’s bodyguards. Bishop almost laughed as he watched one of the burly security men thoroughly frisk the troublesome fellow. The Texan was sure Nick had ordered the precaution just to irritate the U.S. representative.

  “I think the convoy got caught up in some sort of local feud or range war, or perhaps a dispute over territory,” Bishop calmly reported once everyone was seated around the dining table. “It’s next to impossible to know exactly who or why, and it’s for damn sure that bringing them to justice is far beyond our capabilities. Short of a full-scale invasion by the Alliance’s military forces, sticking our toe over the border is only going to get us pulled into a dispute that is none of our business. In summary, I recommend an enhanced presence by Sheriff Watt’s department and perhaps an occasional military training exercise along the river. Those moves should discourage any violence from spilling over onto our territory. That, sir, is my final report.”

  “Thank you for that report, Bishop,” Nick acknowledged with formality, “Your team did a good job getting in and out of there without leaving a big footprint, and the recovery of an Alliance citizen’s property was a bonus.”

  Mr. McCarthy’s palms slammed onto the table as he bellowed, “This is preposterous! A bonus! You call recovering some rickety old, shot-up houseboat a bonus? What the hell is wrong with you people? Do you want the United States of America to fail? Are you wringing your hands in eager anticipation, hoping that millions more of us will starve this winter? Is that what all of this is about?”

  Diana remained stoic at the head of the table, her voice betraying none of the frustration that was welling up inside of the Alliance’s highest elected official. “Mr. McCarthy, sir, please calm down. I assure you we are utilizing every resource at our disposal. We sent our best people into a dangerous situation in order to discover what happened to that convoy. There’s only so much we can do. Even before the collapse, not every crime could be solved.”

  The U.S. representative’s exasperation wasn’t going to be quelled so easily. “My nation must secure an external source of agricultural products. There is no other option available to us. We came to the Alliance with hat-in-hand and were promptly kicked to the curb. We were forced to move on and found a viable, willing trading partner in Mexico. Then, all of a sudden, our goods were mysteriously destroyed in Alliance territory. The perpetrators of this crime vanish into thin air, and soon your government executes what I can only describe as a half-assed effort to investigate. An amazing string of coincidences, isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps,” Terri replied. “But a believable one. What is it that you want from us, Mr. McCarthy? Do you want us to invade Mexico? Do you want us to send in tanks and armed gunships? You seem quite adept at pointing fingers, yet I’ve not heard a single suggestion or potential solution from your side of the table.”

  “Sending in our armed forces would be a horrible mistake,” Nick added. “Tanks rolling across fields tend to destroy crops. Artillery barrages flatten warehouses. Unfortunately, battles often kill civilians. We could probably crush any unorganized resistance in a matter of days, but you would no longer have a viable trading partner. The medicine might cure the symptoms, but it would kill the patient.”

  McCarty sighed, and then a slight smirk appeared at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve spoken with the President, and he has approved what we feel is a valid compromise. We want the Alliance to guarantee the next shipment of food.”

  “What?” Bishop started. “How can we….”

  Nick interrupted, stopping his friend before he could finish. “What exactly do you mean by guarantee, sir?”

  “Washington wants Alpha to deliver 300 tons of foodstuffs to the border at Texarkana. We don’t care where it comes from or how it is delivered. If you wish to utilize our original source in Mexico, that tonnage has already been paid for as part of our initial agreement with the people down there. If you want to substitute with product produced in Alliance territory, that’s acceptable as well. We don’t care what assets you use to secure this shipment or where the food comes from. Such a gesture would dispel any concerns Americans might have about possible Alliance involvement in this incident. We need to be sure that you have our backs.”

  “So you want us to be your insurance policy and your mercenaries?” Bishop protested as he started to stand. “I got your insurance policy, pal. Right here.…”

  Terri’s hand stopped her husband from rising and making an obscene gesture, firmly pushing him back into the chair.

  Diana then dropped a bombshell that evaporated the Texan’s follow-on protest. “I think those terms are acceptable, Mr. McCarthy. We in the Alliance sincerely regret this incident and want nothing but continued success for our former countrymen in the U.S. of A. We’ll deliver your convoy of food in 25 days.”

  Bishop was stunned, his eyes wide with shock. In fact, he was so taken aback, he didn’t utter another word as the meeting wrapped up and the attendees began filing out of the salon.

  By the time he recovered, the Texan had found himself alone with Nick, Diana, and his wife.

  “If you think I’m taking my team into Mexico so that asswart doesn’t get in trouble with his bosses back in Washington, you’ve got another think coming,” he growled at Diana. “Lady, I would follow you through the gates of hell, but this is bullshit. Pure, grade-A, unadulterated bullshit, and I’m not going to risk a single life on such an ill-advised mission.” With that, Bishop rose in anticipation of storming out of the room.

  “Bishop!” Diana barked harshly, and then added a softer, “Please.”

  The Texan did as she requested, his frame stiffening, but waiting for her next words.

  Diana’s expression didn’t change
as the Alliance honcho exchanged knowing looks with Nick. She then rose calmly and ambled toward Bishop, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. “I love you like a brother. Your passion is endearing, and your respect for the men in your command is inspiring. You do, however, have about the quickest trigger finger on that temper of yours that I’ve ever seen. Before you rush off in a huff, please answer one question for me.”

  Begrudgingly, Bishop nodded. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “What did the United States use to pay for all that food?”

  “Huh?”

  “How did they pay for the food?” Nick chimed in, now grinning at his hot-headed friend.

  Bishop shrugged, “Hell if I know? Gold? Fuel? Strippers? Beer? What difference does it make?”

  “What if they traded weapons for food?” Diana asked, a knowing smirk turning up the corners of her mouth.

  It all fell into place, Bishop suddenly realizing that his thinking had, once again, been tactical, not strategic. Still, he had trouble admitting his latest tantrum was unjustified. “What makes you guys think the Colonel… err… the President would do such a thing? He of all people should know that giving whiskey and guns to the savages is a recipe for disaster.”

  “He may not know,” Nick replied. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone from Washington had acted autonomously. Remember our friend the ambassador? Just think about this. McCarthy is hiding something, and we’re not getting any direct answers from Washington. They know one hell of a lot more about what’s going on south of the border than we do, and it’s obvious that they aren’t concerned with our best interests.”