Alone, Book 3: The Journey

by Darrell Maloney

  Dave assumed that he was being watched, but with the same type of night vision goggles that Dave had.

  Had they been using infrared night vision goggles, they’d have picked up the heat signature of the Explorer’s engine.

  As it was, Dave and his vehicle were just another black spot, mixed in with hundreds of others, on the distant terrain.

  And coming directly toward them, as he was, it would be very difficult for anyone watching through the gray-green goggles to notice that one of those black spots was very slowly getting larger.

  Dave’s challenge was to make that spot get smaller, but not so quickly it was noticeable.

  I-35, as it was nearing Austin, had widened to three lanes in each direction.

  Dave was exceedingly lucky, in that at the time he had slowed to a stop, he was in the far left lane.

  He was passing a big rig, who was passing another big rig at the time of the blackout.

  So there were two tractor trailers, forever abandoned and slowly turning into dust, at his immediate right.

  He shifted the Explorer into reverse and very slowly, so as not to attract attention, he backed around the trucks to place them between him and the roadblock.

  At fifteen miles an hour, he drove south in the northbound lanes, moving around abandoned cars that now appeared to be coming toward him.

  At the same time, he kept a nervous eye on the bright light in his rear view mirror.

  And hoped like hell he didn’t see three sets of headlights suddenly come on.

  For he knew instinctively he had no chance of outrunning three fully operational Humvees. They were more powerful, more able to drive off-road, and able to see a heck of a lot better than Dave.

  Two thousand yards later, the bright light suddenly disappeared from view, as Dave crested the hill.

  But he wasn’t out of the woods. Not yet.

  Dave continued south, knowing he had to find an alternate route around Austin.

  He wondered if he should cross the median to the southbound lanes, and look for an exit for an east-west farm to market or county road.

  But he thought better of it. If it had been dry, the wide tires of the Explorer wouldn’t have any trouble traversing the eighty feet of prairie grass separating the northbound lanes from the southbound.

  But the thunderstorm the previous night surely left those grasses soaked, and probably puddled.

  It would do Dave no good to come all this way, only to get his SUV hopelessly stuck in the mud.

  He couldn’t chance it.

  Instead, he continued south down the lonely highway, passing one ghostly relic of a car after another, until he exited on an on-ramp.

  He had no clue where he was.

  Since he was going the wrong way, the signs were no help to him.

  The on-ramp led him to a desolate two lane road.

  He headed east, and after a quarter mile or so, he came upon a small white sign, on which black letters announced “State Highway 150.”

  At least now he knew where he was.

  In the middle of frickin’ nowhere.

  Dave lifted up the night vision goggles and parked them temporarily on top of his head. He reached over to his backpack and removed the road atlas, then removed a small flashlight from the breast pocket of his camouflage jacket.

  The atlas was still turned to the page reflecting I-35 between San Antonio and Austin, so it took no time at all to find his present location. All he did was run his finger along the highway until it crossed Highway 150.

  He studied the map and saw that he could head northwest on county roads until he connected with Highway 281.

  Highway 281 was familiar to him. He’d spent some time training at the Air Force base in Wichita Falls, in the northeastern corner of Texas. While there, he used Highway 281 to drive to and from San Antonio on the weekends.

  He knew that it, like I-35, headed north, was well-maintained, and less traveled.

  It would add some extra miles to his journey, but would be a good way to bypass Austin.

  He just hoped it wasn’t blocked as well.

  Chapter 17

  Dave’s stress level went up tremendously as he traversed the narrow road. The terrain grew more hilly as he headed east, and the road wound back and forth like a snake on a Sunday stroll.

  The hills and turns combined to make this stretch of road potentially more dangerous than the interstate.

  If there were a roadblock, there was a good chance it would be sitting just on the other side of a turn or just over the crest of a small hill.

  He might not see it until he was right up on it. And the soldiers manning it would very likely see him at the same time.

  Dave did what he saw as prudent.

  He slowed down again, to fifteen miles an hour. And he kept his eyes glued not only to the road, but to the horizon beyond it, for any hints of the light that might indicate another roadblock might be ahead.

  And, although he didn’t realize it until quite some time later, he quit singing as well.

  Driving through the hill country at low speed also presented another danger.

  This part of rural Texas consisted mostly of ranches, since the soil was for the most part too rocky or too infertile to plant crops.

  Most of the ranches had cattle, and therefore employed ranch hands to manage their herds.

  The ranch hands were, for the most part, the last of a dying breed.

  The true American cowboy.

  And they generally rode horses while performing their duties.

  Dave assumed that some of the larger ranches retained their ranch hands after the blackout. After all, they’d need help protecting their large herds of beef from poachers. And a large ranch was capable of growing crops on a limited basis to feed the hands, and to house them and their families as well.

  Dave suspected that many of the ranchers invited the ranch hands and their families inside the ranch after the blackout and became small communities unto themselves.

  The problem that presented to Dave was that there were certainly cowboys, on horseback, riding the fence lines in this area, on the lookout for poachers or other aggressors.

  And while Dave doubted that any of them were watching out for blacked out SUVs creeping down the country highway at a snail’s pace, it would certainly get their attention as he rolled by.

  And a man on horseback could certainly keep pace with an SUV driving fifteen miles an hour.

  Or even pass it, get in front of it, and bring it to a stop.

  For Dave to get through this leg of his journey would require more luck than skill.

  But Dave’s luck was about to run out.

  He just didn’t know it yet.

  Dave kept a keen eye on the highway in front of him, as well as the rear view mirror above his dashboard.

  Neither would have helped him spot the cowboy, riding a big bay in Dave’s blind spot over his left shoulder.

  The cowboy was named Mason by his mother, but nobody called him that.

  Virtually all of Mason’s friends called him “Shadow,” but most of them didn’t know why.

  Shadow earned his nickname when he was a kid, because his friends considered him sneaky.

  He preferred the term “stealthy,” but it all boiled down to the same thing.

  He once played pranks on them by sneaking up behind them as they walked, keeping pace with them and getting so close he could almost reach out and touch them.

  Then he’d pounce, scaring the bejeezus out of them.

  Some said he could get as close to them as their shadow before they knew he was there.

  And the nickname stuck.

  And, to be sure, he’d shadowed Dave’s Explorer for the better part of two miles, and Dave still didn’t know he was there.

  On his hip, he wore a long barreled six shot revolver made by the Colt Arms Manufacturing Company, in an open leather holster.

  Just like generations of cowboys before him.

  All of
his fellow wranglers were armed too. Most of them carried nine millimeter pistols manufactured overseas somewhere, but not Shadow. The old fashioned Colt suited his personality just fine.

  Shadow was something else besides stealthy and a bit old school.

  He was also a very patient man.

  He followed alongside the vehicle, on the soft shoulder so the driver wouldn’t hear his bay’s hoof steps on the hard pavement. Just behind and to the left of the driver’s left shoulder, and about twenty feet away.

  Shadow waited patiently until the vehicle was within two hundred yards from Screaming Woman’s Creek.

  Dave didn’t know that the creek, the subject of old local lore, was about two more bends in the road.

  But Shadow did.

  Shadow also knew that his friends, Dakota and Stan, were waiting at the narrow bridge crossing the creek.

  Dave heard two shrill whistles, but couldn’t tell where they were coming from.

  At first he thought he split a tire. He’d heard tires scream in pain when picking up a nail or driving over a broken bottle, as their air started to escape them.

  But no, he decided. It wasn’t a flat. The whistles were too short for that.

  Cowboys use whistles on cattle drives and while working the range to communicate with each other. They can be heard at greater distances than yells and are easier on the throat.

  And all range riders know that a shrill whistle, followed immediately by another, shorter whistle, means “heads up” or “danger.”

  Dave didn’t know where the whistle came from or what it meant.

  But Dakota and Stan did.

  And when Dave rounded the final turn before Screaming Woman’s Creek, he came to a screeching stop.

  Before him, on the narrow two lane bridge, were two men on horseback, their rifles both raised and pointed directly at Dave’s chest.

  Chapter 18

  Before Dave could respond in any way, Shadow was at his driver’s door, his own rifle already taken from its saddle sheathe and pointed at Dave’s head.

  “Put your hands up, mister, or die.”

  Dave put his hands up.

  “Very slowly… put your vehicle in park and unlock the doors.”

  Dave left his left hand above his head. With his right hand, he placed the transmission in park.

  Unlocking the doors wasn’t so easy, since the electric locks didn’t work.

  But he thought it unwise to argue or refuse. Instead, he raised his right hand above his head. He moved his left hand very slowly to the driver’s side door, and with two fingers lifted the manual lock.

  The door popped open, and only then, when he saw Shadow’s face, he knew he’d been tricked.

  Unable to turn his head and see Shadow’s face before he opened the door, he’d assumed the man had the same night vision goggles that Dave himself wore.

  The truth was, Shadow couldn’t see a thing. In the dark, through tinted glass, he’d merely pointed his Winchester at the place he assumed the driver’s head would be.

  If Dave had pointed a weapon at Shadow’s chest and fired, the cowboy wouldn’t have known it until he was dead. It was a risky move on Shadow’s part.

  But then, risk is part of a real cowboy’s life.

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “State your business for being here.”

  “Interstate 35 is closed south of Austin. I’m headed north, to Kansas City. I’m just going the long way around, that’s all.”

  Dakota and Stan had ridden over and dismounted. Stan was looking through the Explorer to make sure it was unoccupied.

  Dakota said, “That part’s true enough, Shadow. I’ve heard the government’s got Austin locked up tighter than a prison.”

  Dakota, who appeared to Dave to be the leader, or at least the elder of the three, took over the questioning.

  “Just how many head of our beef have you poached while you’ve been taking your detour, mister?”

  “I’m not a rustler. I’m just a father trying to get to my family. That’s all.”

  Stan, satisfied there was no one else in the vehicle, walked up behind Dave and removed his sidearm from its holster. Dave winced at the thought of being unarmed, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Never said you were a rustler, mister. A rustler takes cattle that ain’t his and herds them away. Poachers are worse. They kill the cattle on the spot, saw off a few chunks, and leave the rest to rot. You obviously ain’t a cattleman, not to know the difference.”

  Stan frisked Dave and found the small flashlight in his breast pocket. He turned it on and seemed surprised that it worked.

  He handed it to Dakota.

  Dakota told the others, “Make sure he don’t run until we find out what’s going on here. I’m gonna see what he’s carrying.”

  Stan looked at Dave and added, “You better hope we don’t find any fresh butchered beef in there, mister, or we’ll do the same to you what you did to our cattle.”

  Dave wasn’t worried. They seemed to be more interested in protecting their own resources than in stealing Dave’s. Still, with one rifle pointed at his chest and another at his head, it was hard for him to get comfortable.

  They stood for a full two minutes, no one saying a word, until Shadow’s curiosity got the best of him.

  “How’d you get your truck running, mister?”

  “My wife and I were preppers. We knew the blackout was coming. We protected some spare parts, so they wouldn’t get ruined. I just took the bad parts off and replaced them with the good ones. That’s all.”

  “You knew this shit was coming, and you didn’t warn anybody else?”

  “Would you have believed me if I told you the world was going to hell and nothing was going to work anymore?”

  Shadow thought for a moment before answering.

  “Well, no, I reckon not. I’d have thought you were plumb loco.”

  Stan asked, “Don’t you think you should turn off the engine? Save your gas?”

  “No, the alternator’s acting up. It’s not charging the battery. If I turn it off it may not restart. And as for the gas, it’s not exactly in short supply.”

  Stan chuckled, considering the thousands of abandoned vehicles clogging the roads and highways in the area.

  “Yeah. I reckon that part’s true enough.”

  Dakota came back with one of Dave’s glass pickle jars.

  The lid had been removed.

  “What’s this all about, mister?”

  “As I said, I got separated from my family. I’m headed up to Kansas City to see if they’ve survived. If they’re still alive, I’m bringing them back to San Antonio with me.”

  “That’s all well and good, mister. But that still don’t explain what these jars full of food are all about.”

  “I’m stashing them along the way, so that on our way back we’ll have an easier time of it, that’s all. We’ll spend less time having to forage for food and water and more time moving.”

  Dakota nodded. Dave’s plan seemed to make sense.

  He rifled through the jar, which contained protein and granola bars, trail mix, dried fruit, dry cereal, and jerky.

  Dakota took out one of the bags of jerky and raised an eyebrow.

  “I hope like hell this isn’t our beef.”

  “No, sir. Try it. It’s rabbit. Taste for yourself.”

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever had rabbit jerky.”

  Nonetheless, Dakota pulled a small piece from the bag and popped it into his mouth.

  “Well, I have,” Shadow said. Toss that bag up here.”

  Dakota resealed the bag and tossed it to Shadow, who was still sitting atop his big bay.

  Shadow took out a big piece and bit off a chunk.

  “He’s telling the truth. It’s rabbit.”

  Dakota said, “Well, I have to say, it’s right tasty.”

  Dave, in a gesture of good will, said, “Keep the bag. Enjoy it with my complime
nts.”

  Stan stifled a laugh, then said, “Hell, we’ll keep everything you got if we want to, mister. Stop trying to sound so damn generous.”

  Dakota, verifying to Dave that he was, indeed, in charge, turned to Stan.

  “Shut up, Stan. If we steal from this man what’s rightfully his, then we ain’t no better than the poachers we’re after.”

  He turned back to Dave.

  “You say your family’s in Kansas City?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s a long way, and it won’t be an easy trip.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’re smart to move at night. I don’t suppose you’d consider trading this rig for a good saddle horse and gear?”

  Dave started to speak, but held his tongue.

  Dakota seemed to sense that Dave was looking for the right words.

  “Go ahead. You can speak freely.”

  Dave said, “Well, it’s like this. You’ve got the drop on me. You can take my vehicle whether I want to trade or not. If that’s your intention, then yes. I think the least you can do is to give me a horse and tack to aid me in my journey.

  “But… if you are honest men like you claim to be, then you’ll respect my property just like I’ve respected yours. You’ll let me go in peace.”

  Dakota surprised Dave by extending his hand.

  “Well, friend. We are indeed honest men. And we will let you leave with everything you brought with you, save the bag of rabbit jerky you gave me. And thank you for that, by the way. Before you leave, though, would you tell us if it’s possible to get any of our own vehicles running?”

  Chapter 19

  Dave could have lied to the cowboys. Filled their heads with dreams so they’d be more apt to let him keep his Explorer and go unscathed.

  But Dave wasn’t that way. He hadn’t lied very many times in his life, and he hadn’t done it often enough to be any good at it.

  They’d have seen right through him.

  “I can’t promise you anything. But I’ve always had a theory that perhaps some of the parts on the shelves in parts stores may have survived the electromagnet waves. I have a clock that was lying on my daughter’s dresser on the day of the blackout. It wasn’t plugged in, because the alarm was broken and we got her a new one.