Alone, Book 3: The Journey

by Darrell Maloney

  He could just lay back and try to tolerate the pain.

  But it was already hurting terribly, and would just get worse.

  Or, he could try to crawl out of the bunk without waking her.

  It wouldn’t be easy, but he decided the third option was really the only one he had.

  Very slowly he moved, an inch at a time, like a cat stalking its prey. Bit by bit, body part by body part he went, until he climbed over her.

  Dave was directly over the top of her, one foot on either side of her legs and propped up by his toes. His arms were fully extended, one on each side of her torso. It was like he was in the middle of a push-up directly over her body.

  And Red chose that exact moment to wake up.

  Her nose was six inches from his.

  She cleared her throat and calmly said, “I hope this isn’t what it appears to be.”

  Dave hadn’t realized it before, but he now imagined how it would have looked to someone suddenly opening the sleeper’s curtain and peering inside.

  He swallowed hard.

  “Nope. Please don’t kill me.”

  “If it’s not what it appears to be, then exactly what in hell are you doing?”

  “I have to go pee. I’m trying to get out.”

  “Why didn’t you just wake me?”

  “I’ve seen how cranky you get when I wake you.”

  She couldn’t deny it. Not with good conscience anyway.

  Dave hovered over her for just another moment. Then he asked, “Can I go now?”

  “Please.”

  It wasn’t until Dave was out of the truck and several feet away when she allowed herself to laugh.

  And it felt good. She needed it.

  Chapter 47

  They set out again an hour after sunset. At their present pace they’d connect with State Highway 114 in Jacksboro an hour before sunrise.

  Dave gingerly brought up the elephant that had been lingering in the room for two straight nights.

  “Let’s talk again about how you’re going to let me come to Lubbock with you to help me hunt down your son’s killer.”

  She sat silently for a moment and simply said, “Okay.”

  It caught Dave completely off guard. He’d expected an argument at best, a punch in the nose at worst.

  And his nose still hurt from the beating.

  He still had a lot of questions he wanted to ask. Like exactly who they were going after. How big an army the man had. Whether she was there to capture him and turn him over to the law, or to find an excuse to kill him.

  Dave hoped he hadn’t volunteered for a murder mission.

  If that was her intent, he would try his best to talk her out of it. He’d tell her if she shot the man down, she’d be no better than he was. And that her son and husband, looking down at her from heaven, wouldn’t be proud.

  “Can I ask about what we’re going to do in Lubbock, and how we’re going to do it?”

  “Dave, please. I don’t even know myself. I just know that Jesse Luna murdered my son. I think he was paid to do so by John Savage, but I can’t prove it. I have to talk to Luna first. I was searching for him around Blanco when someone told me he stole two of their horses and lit out.

  “I tried to track him, but lost him when he got onto the paved highway.

  “Then word got back to town that he made it to Lubbock, and wasn’t planning to come back.

  “That’s all I know. Anything more would be speculation.

  “As far as what we’ll do, you’ll find out the same time I do. As far as handguns, I know Savage took one of them off of you, and you never got it back. Do you have a backup?”

  “I have several back home, but I only brought the one. I have my AR-15.”

  “When you’re going into battle, you need both. And always take a spare handgun. If you have only one and you lose it or it jams, you’re screwed.

  “Very few bad guys will be courteous and wait for you while you try to unjam your weapon.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Luckily, I’ve got your back. I’ve got a spare Glock in my bag. I’ll loan it to you, but I want it back someday.”

  “Deal.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking. You have a skillet in the back, right?”

  “Yeah. If you’ve ever tried to cook fish on a spit without it breaking into pieces and falling into the fire, you’ll know a skillet is a much better option.”

  “You brought fishing gear too?”

  “Just a little bit of tackle and a single rod. It’s broken down under all that stuff in the back. I’m not the world’s biggest fan of fish, but Sarah and the girls love it. So we’ll probably eat a lot of it on the way back.”

  “You’d love fish more than life itself if you had my fish. You got any spices back there?”

  “Just salt and pepper.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Keep a sharp lookout our last hour on the road. If we cross any rivers or streams, let’s stop at the next truck after that. While you’re catching a couple of fish, I’ll gather some wild herbs and spices. Maybe I’ll get lucky and come across some wild onions or mushrooms.”

  Dave’s mouth watered. He never thought he’d crave fish, of all things. But after more than a year, he had to admit it sounded pretty good. And he’d grown very tired of dried beans and Vienna sausages.

  Fish for breakfast might not be so bad after all.

  “Sure. Okay, it sounds like a plan. But I hope we find a water source. I’d hate it if you got me all worked up for a great fish breakfast and then we had to eat granola instead.”

  “No problem. I always have a backup plan.”

  “A backup plan?”

  “Yep. This is possum country.”

  Luckily it was a very dark night and Dave was wearing the night vision goggles. It prevented Red from seeing him turn up his nose and shiver at the prospect of eating possum. It also denied her the opportunity to make fun of him.

  Dave needn’t have worried. An hour before the sun broke over the horizon, they drove across a bridge marked with a green sign.

  “San Sabe River.”

  They both smiled and looked at each other.

  Dave pulled in front of a white rig a quarter of a mile farther.

  “When you come back from gathering your herbs, remember to look for a white White.”

  “A what what?”

  “No. A white White.”

  “What are you talking about? A white white what?”

  “White is the manufacturer. It’s a company that made trucks. White is also the color.” It’s a white White.”

  He turned to her and noticed for the first time she was grinning ear to ear.

  “I know, dummy. I was just jerking your chain. But wouldn’t it be easier just to look for the big Walmart logo on the side of the trailer?”

  He felt stupid.

  “Yeah, probably…”

  “Hey, maybe we can do some shopping before we head to Lubbock.”

  After they settled, Dave set off south toward the river.

  Red headed for the thick woods directly east of the highway.

  “I’ll gather what I can, and be back within an hour. Good luck.”

  “Yep. You too. See you in a bit.”

  Dave had always enjoyed fishing more than eating his catch. In another place and time he fished for the sheer joy and relaxation it brought him, and he almost always released his catch.

  But not this day. This day he hoped to catch their fill and enough extra to enjoy after they woke up later.

  An hour and a half later he sauntered back toward the truck, expecting at any moment to smell wood burning from a small campfire.

  And almost certainly Red would be standing over it demanding to know what took him so long.

  But at least she couldn’t complain about the three pounds of river perch he’d landed.

  He didn’t start to get concerned until he was back at the truck. No smell of wood burning. No sign of Red or anyone e
lse.

  And he started to worry.

  Chapter 48

  He’d been had. Once again, just like in Blanco, he’d let his guard down and gotten sloppy.

  And once again he’d been blindsided.

  He was surprised at Red’s handwriting. It was very distinctive, with large loops and a neatness any handwriting teacher would have raved about.

  For some reason, Dave would have expected something less, perhaps a chicken scratch, from such a diamond in the rough.

  Dear Dave,

  I hate deceitful people. I always have. I’ve also made it a point never to lie any more than I have to. Especially to my friends. And yes, I consider you a friend.

  I’m sorry to deceive you. But the fact is, going to Lubbock is something I need to do alone. I’ve lost too many people I’ve cared about over the last year. There’s been too much death already and it needs to stop.

  I refuse to take you into a situation where you may not survive.

  Especially since you have your own mission to go on and your own people to save. If you went to Lubbock with me and got yourself killed, there would be no one to save your wife and daughters.

  You owe your allegiance, and your support, to them. Not me.

  Please don’t waste your time trying to find me. You won’t.

  I’m going overland. Cross country, if you’re more familiar with that term. In my opinion, it’s safer than staying on the roads. You’ve seen for yourself that the highways are inhabited with their own brand of evil people.

  By staying in the woods I’ll have a steady source of food and water. I grew up camping and fishing and hunting with my father. He taught me how to survive on my own, in conditions that would kill most other people.

  I’ve done it before, in fact. Last summer I got so tired of watching people I cared about dying, I ran away and lived in the woods for four months.

  You don’t have to worry about me.

  Worry about yourself instead.

  You’re still several nights away from Kansas City.

  Instead of boring me to death with stories from your Marine Corps days, spend your time on the road trying to think of every possible scenario you’ll find when you get there.

  Then think of how you’ll approach each situation. And how to extricate yourself from each one as well. Come up with a plan, and always have a backup plan, and even a backup to your backup.

  I’ve kept the frequency numbers you wrote down for me. At some point in the future I’ll find a prepper with a working radio, and I’ll try to contact you. In the few days we had together, I feel I’ve come to know Sarah and your girls. I hope you find them alive and well, and are able to take them back to San Antonio.

  If I can ever raise you on the radio, I’d like to tell your girls that you never gave up on them. That you knew they were counting on you. That you were their super hero, and that they’re lucky to have you on their side. I’d tell Sarah the same thing, but I’m pretty sure she already knows.

  You’re a good man, Dave Speer. You make a lousy thief, and you sometimes do things that aren’t very bright.

  When you discover your car keys are missing, check under your pillow. You left them in the ignition. Duh…

  There’s something else under your pillow as well. You’ll need it.

  Good luck to you, my friend.

  -Red-

  Dave felt a lump form at the back of his throat.

  He’d known Red for such a short time, yet was so indebted to her.

  And he’d come to consider her a good and trusted friend.

  He lifted the pillow on the driver’s bunk to find her spare handgun, in its holster and with two extra magazines. Next to that were the keys to his Explorer, wrapped inside another piece of paper. Written on the paper, just in case he needed to be reminded of his folly, were the words:

  Ya big dummy!

  He’d miss her.

  Chapter 49

  Two nights later Dave was on Interstate 44, nearing the top of Texas.

  He’d switched over to the interstate when Highway 281 ran out in Wichita Falls. And as much as he hated the idea of spending any more time on the interstate highway system, it was the only passage into Oklahoma without having to go a hundred miles out of his way.

  And he’d wasted enough time already.

  He was trying to be smarter in his planning. He wanted to put Red’s advice to good use, by thinking ahead, and trying to imagine what obstacles might be in his path.

  And then to come up with viable solutions to get past such obstacles.

  It was during one such effort that he wondered whether FEMA or the National Guard had checkpoints set up at state borders.

  Logically speaking, if they were so concerned about restricting the public’s movements that they roadblocked cities, might they do the same elsewhere?

  Like maybe, for whatever reason, they wanted to keep Texans in Texas and Oklahomans in Oklahoma?

  Doing so wouldn’t make any sense. At least not to Dave.

  But as Dave once asked Sarah, “Who knows why the government does anything it does?”

  According to his map, the border was just a couple of miles north of a hamlet called Burkburnett. Just past a big bend in the highway in which it suddenly turned east.

  Dave stopped the Explorer when he saw the bend ahead.

  He’d gotten complacent once, and driven right up on a checkpoint. If they had been paying attention, or had night vision or infrared heat-seeking technology, he’d have been caught south of Austin.

  Dave wasn’t very good at a lot of things.

  But he was pretty good at learning from his mistakes.

  He turned the vehicle off, placed the night vision goggles on the seat, and put the keys in his pocket.

  Dave no longer worried about being able to get it started up again. The doubts he’d initially had about Red being able to install the alternator were totally unfounded. She installed it well, and it worked perfectly. Dave could tell, even without the gauge on his dashboard to tell him. When he turned the key now, the engine sprang to life, like a horse out of the gate. It no longer hesitated like it once did.

  “Thanks, Red,” he mumbled.

  He hoped she was safe and making good progress.

  Dave’s plan was to hike across the bridge separating Texas from Oklahoma, a backpack thrown over his shoulder. Inside the backpack would be a couple of changes of clothes, a couple of bottles of water, some trail mix, his skillet and some fishing tackle.

  He’d leave his weapons behind, except for a filet knife.

  Nothing that might be seized by border guards if he was challenged.

  His story was simple. He’d say he was just a drifter, who’d worked his way up from south Texas by following the back roads, living off the land and an occasional kind stranger. He was working his way up to Oklahoma City, where he had relatives.

  “What’s that you say, officer? The border to Oklahoma is closed? No one in or out? I’m sorry, officer. I’ll go back where I came from. Sorry to bother you.”

  That was his Plan A.

  His backup plan, if they chased him, wouldn’t be quite so easy.

  He’d jump off the bridge into the Red River below. The river, he knew, generally swelled in the spring when snow packs to the north thawed. It generally ran with a swift current this time of year.

  If he couldn’t get the Explorer over the bridge, he’d freefall the forty feet from the bridge to the river, ride its current for a mile or two, then work his way back to his vehicle under cover of darkness.

  Then he’d try to find an alternate route.

  He’d try to make the crossing in daylight. He couldn’t afford to have the night vision goggles taken from him. He couldn’t see well enough at night without them.

  He ate some trail mix while he waited for the sun to come up an hour later.

  And he reflected.

  About a lot of things.

  He wondered about his Sarah. And whether she suspect
ed that now that spring was here, he’d be coming for her.

  He wondered about his daughters. Whether they were driving their mother crazy by asking, “When is Dad coming?” twenty times a day.

  And the other Sarah. The young girl he could have helped. Could have saved. But didn’t.

  What had happened to her? Her clothes weren’t torn. He didn’t think she was assaulted. Surely she wouldn’t have dumped her belongings from her own backpack. And certainly not in the middle of the highway.

  He figured she was being chased. That would explain why she dropped the sleeping bag, to lighten her load.

  Perhaps someone tried to rob her at knifepoint.

  Perhaps she put up a fight.

  And the killer got angry, and used the knife to cut her throat.

  Perhaps he took her backpack and fled south. And after he was far enough away from her, he went through the backpack looking to see what treasures he’d found.

  Maybe there weren’t any treasures. Maybe there were just family photos, and a toothbrush, and maybe some makeup.

  Perhaps the killer was so incensed he dumped all the bag’s contents onto the pavement and retreated back into the woods to await his next victim.

  The world was indeed an incredibly violent and ugly place now.

  He, like Red, just wished the killing would stop.

  The sun was up now. He’d be setting out in a few minutes. But first, he pulled out the Rand McNally road atlas that had been his companion since San Antonio. And once again he took the Google Earth photograph he’d found in Sarah’s research material.

  The photograph that looked like a farm somewhere, but that he couldn’t identify.

  The photograph that looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t say exactly why.

  He was hoping the photograph was of his in-laws’ farm. That was where Sarah and the girls planned to stay while they were in Kansas City. If, as Red contended, they landed safely, then surely Sarah’s sister Karen and her husband were at the airport to greet them.

  If they were able to get back to their farm northwest of the city, that’s where his family would be.