Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent

by Joe Nobody

  Those who survived had waited for days, hoping for rescue from the outside. Little did they know that the entire country had slid off the edge of the abyss. Eventually desperation had set in, and hunger caused the remaining populace to begin scrounging for food. Bishop imagined it had been the same almost everywhere, the primary difference here being that much of the population had died immediately rather than over time.

  Terri remained silent, her head pivoting left and right, taking it all in. It took Bishop a moment to realize that with the exception of Meraton, his wife hadn’t been in any sort of town during the daytime since the downfall. They had left Houston at night and avoided civilization as much as possible the entire trip west. He almost chuckled at her girlish amazement at the sights passing by.

  She finally commented on her surroundings. “Bishop, this is so weird. It’s like all the people just disappeared into thin air and left everything right where it was.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving. Look closely at the doors. They are all busted open. This area has been looted, at least for food.”

  The statement caused his wife to pay a little more attention to their environment. A tone of concern crept into her voice, “Do you think there still might be people around?”

  “Hard to tell, babe. My guess would be this area was picked clean pretty quickly, but we need to stay frosty.”

  “Frosty?”

  “Calm, cool, and alert.”

  “Oh.”

  Up ahead, Bishop could see a huge sign advertising Home Mart. The lofty logo brought back memories of dozens of trips made to the Houston version of the same franchise. He and Terri had scraped, struggled, and done without to purchase their home - no easy feat in the middle of the Second Great Depression. The real estate brochure had been absolutely accurate in its claim that the place required a little “tender loving care.” The home’s condition had resulted in a seemingly infinite number of improvement projects and repairs. Bishop felt like he had beaten a path to Home Mart.

  “In a way I feel like I’m entering familiar territory, Terri. I know the layout of these stores like the back of my hand.”

  Terri smirked, her recall of Bishop’s frustration with being a handyman still fresh in her mind. “If you had spent a little more time learning some basic carpentry skills and less time shooting, you could have cut the number of trips in half.”

  Bishop grinned and threw a glance at his mate. “Well, given that we had to abandon the house, I guess you’re just lucky that I spent so much time at the shooting range, huh?”

  Pulling into the empty parking lot, Bishop’s state of readiness elevated. His eyes darted from the weeds growing through cracks in the pavement to the shattered glass surrounding the front door. As expected, someone had been here as well. He asked Terri to drive completely around the building once. It took a bit to circle the property. The complex included an office supply store adjacent to the Home Mart. It appeared to have been ransacked as well.

  Bishop asked Terri to leave the truck close to the Home Mart’s main entrance. He had to laugh when she started to pull into the first row of painted spaces. “Terri, seriously, move up next to the building—a few feet away. We don’t have to use the parking spaces anymore.”

  “Sorry. Habit.”

  Bishop ducked down from his defensive position sticking out of the truck’s sunroof. Before exiting the back seat, he explained, “Terri, I’m not sure what we’re going to find inside. I know you can handle yourself, but I want you to safety that rifle and stay behind me until we’re sure the entire place is unoccupied. Please keep your flashlight off and stay at most three steps behind me.”

  Reaching toward the floorboard, he retrieved Terri’s body armor and handed it to her. “Please put this on, too.”

  “Are you really expecting that much trouble? I hate this thing. It cramps my fashion style.”

  “I know, but better safe than sorry. Please just wear it until we’re sure no one is inside.”

  Terri agreed, mumbling under her breath while putting the heavy vest over her blouse. “Does this body armor make my ass look fat?”

  “Makes you look hot as hell, darling. Do you think they sell mattresses in here?”

  The come-on earned Bishop a swat on the shoulder.

  Moving toward the door, the first thing that struck Bishop was how dark the interior was. The sun’s illumination brightened the first 10-15 feet of the entrance, after which, a wall of blackness met the couple’s gaze.

  “It will take a bit for our eyes to get used to the darkness. Until then, I’m going to use the night vision. Try squinting really hard for 10 seconds after we get inside. I’ve heard it helps.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yup. Some Special Forces guys told me that once, and it seems to work. Otherwise, it’ll take your eyes about 30 minutes to adjust.”

  Bishop mounted his night vision onto his rifle, pushed the power button for the light amplifying device, and began scanning the interior of the cavernous space. The first thing that caught his attention was the long row of cash registers lining the front of the store. Each drawer had been pried loose and flung to the floor. Given the store was closed when the failure occurred, Bishop thought the whole endeavor was just plain stupid. There wouldn’t have been any cash in the drawers, and you can’t eat money. Why bother wasting the energy?

  Moving a few steps further inside, Bishop started scanning the aisles. Double decker, heavy metal shelving was used to display most of the store’s wares. It looked to Bishop as though the pilfering had been random, with some passages almost completely blocked where scavengers had pulled items from their storage areas. Other sections seemed untouched, ready for the next day’s shoppers to browse.

  Hanging from the ceiling were directional signs advertising the general category of goods located on each row. It didn’t take long for Bishop to figure out what people had found valuable during their rampage, and what they had ignored.

  The section with pesticides and gardening tools appeared untouched while the display of electric home generators was completely bare. Damn, thought Bishop, Alpha could use all the generators they can get their hands on.

  As the couple walked down the main path behind the cash registers, Terri whispered, “Look at the candy displays, Bishop. Picked clean to the bone.”

  Bishop pretended disgust. “You mean they’re out of beef jerky? Dag nab it.”

  After passing the length of the store, Bishop turned to Terri and said, “Okay, I don’t see or hear anybody. Let’s check out the back of the store and all of the offices. If those are clear, I’ll get to work on my list.”

  “What about my list?”

  “If the place is empty, you’re welcome to shop all you want. Just don’t go over your VISA limit.”

  “Funny.”

  The couple walked down the corridor containing lighting displays, light bulbs, and ceiling fans. This area was undisturbed; apparently, no one needed a new chandelier. At the end of the aisle, they came to the appliance department where rows of washers, dryers, and refrigerators sat on display.

  “Oh, Bishop, they’re having a sale on those new high capacity washers. Do we have time to take a look?”

  Bishop was about to retort when a noise echoed through the store. He immediately crouched and began scanning with the night vision. Terri moved a little closer to his side.

  It was impossible to tell where the sound had originated, but Bishop’s instincts told him it came from the back of the store. After listening for a while, he began moving toward the rear of the retail area, passing displays of tile, wood flooring, and carpeting. It took a bit of searching before they found an entrance to the non-public portion of the building.

  Bishop quietly opened a steel door labeled, “Loading Dock,” and scanned the area with his optic.

  Not seeing any threat, the couple cautiously entered the warehouse and dock area. Several concrete truck ramps lined the rear wall of the building, complete with huge garag
e doors. Three yellow forklifts sat parked, their electric recharging plugs secured to the wall.

  Looters had visited this area more so than the main retail section of the store. Practically every box had at least been opened, many having their contents dumped on the floor. The large expanse of concrete was littered with paper, plastic wrap, and scraps of garbage.

  From the far end of the warehouse, a scraping noise broke the silence, quickly followed by a sound that resembled a door slamming. Bishop motioned for Terri to stay close and began stalking the source of the disturbance.

  Halfway there, the scrape … bang echoed through the space again.

  Cautiously, Bishop peered around a stack of boxes and spied a pool of light on one of the loading ramps created by an open emergency exit door. He could make out two people on the ramp.

  Scrape … scrape … bang!

  Bishop figured it out on the second glance and exhaled. He reached behind him and motioned Terri to come up and have a look.

  Scrape . . . scrape . . . scrape . . . bang!

  Terri moved beside Bishop, and peeked over his shoulder. When she finally discerned the source of the noise, she grinned and rested her head on his shoulder in relief.

  Two young kids had a skateboard and were trying to ride it down the ramp. From what Bishop could see, they weren’t very good and kept falling off. Each time they lost their footing on the toy, it would flip over and slam into the wall, producing the bang.

  “What do you want to do?” Terri whispered to Bishop.

  “I think you should leave your rifle here with me, and go talk to them. A woman probably won’t freak them out as much as a man.”

  “Little do they know at such a young age, eh?”

  Terri handed Bishop her weapon and slowly ventured closer to the children. She cleared her throat to get their attention.

  The two boys froze immediately, their eyes growing wide. Without a word, both of them bolted for the exit door, all trace of them evaporating into thin air. Bishop could hear their running footsteps fade into the distance.

  Terri turned around and looked at her husband, making a motion of “What the heck?”

  Bishop whispered, “Maybe your reputation preceded you.”

  “Bishop, did you see them? They were filthy little ragamuffins. Their clothes were torn and covered in dirt. I think they live here.”

  Bishop handed Terri back the rifle and then moved to the door. Peeking through the small glass window, he couldn’t see anything but the empty back lot of the loading dock. He started to turn away when the distant sound of a slamming door sounded from outside.

  “I don’t think they live here, but I bet I know where they do live. Come on.”

  Bishop headed outside, Terri close on his heels. He made for the loading dock of the adjacent office supply store. “This sunlight will ruin our vision again. Let me go in first with the NVD.”

  When Bishop opened the door, a chorus of sounds escaped from inside. Rushed footfalls, brushes of cloth, and a chorus of “shssssssssssss” filled the air. He turned to Terri and said, “There’s a bunch of them in there. Maybe a whole family. We need to be careful of protective parents.”

  Terri nodded and stepped closer. She poked her head around the corner and spoke in a friendly voice. “Hey, you guys. My name’s Terri, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. Why don’t you guys come outside here so I can meet you? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  Terri’s greeting was met with more scrambling, followed by a few whispered “Be quiets.”

  Bishop moved into the opening to scan with the night vision and promptly jumped back. Several pairs of scissors, a handful of exacto knives, and an assortment of other heavy objects bounced off his chest and legs. A few pieces of the barrage missed, rattling across the pavement. If one of them hadn’t bounced off of Bishop’s sore head, the attack would have been comical.

  “So much for the friendly approach. Why did they throw scissors?”

  “Probably because they were taught not to run with them—that sharp objects are dangerous. Probably the only thing they could find in an office supply store. What are you going to do, Bishop? Start shooting?”

  Bishop tilted his head, pretending to take the comment seriously. “Well, that’s an idea. I’m out of hand grenades.”

  Terri shook her head and then moved closer to the door, yelling inside. “Now stop throwing stuff at us. My husband’s here with me, and we don’t want to hurt you guys. Please don’t throw anything else.”

  Bishop popped his head around the corner again, ducking back quickly in case another barrage of sharp office supplies came flying. None did.

  “Terri, there’s a bunch of them in there. The place is full of boxes, nooks and crannies. We’d never find them all. We need a different approach.”

  Terri rubbed her chin, and then her eyes brightened. “How about the pied piper routine?”

  “Do you have a flute in your load gear?”

  “Funny, Bishop. No, we need something to lure them out, or at least a couple of them. I wish we had some chocolate—that might do it.”

  “If we had chocolate, you would’ve eaten it all by now.”

  “You’re right about that. What I would give for a chocolate Easter bunny right now.”

  Bishop laughed, and then pondered Terri’s idea, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “How about soft drinks?”

  “Sure, that might work. Are you going to run to the corner Stop ‘n Pick, and grab a case of sodas?”

  “Nope. I do have a secret supplier though. Come on.”

  Trotting back to the Home Mart, Bishop made a beeline for the employee break area. The glass front of the candy machine had been broken out, all of the snacks long gone. The soft drink machine next to it appeared unharmed, however. Bishop found the padlock on the side and noted someone had tried to pry it off but apparently had failed.

  “Stay here for a minute, I need a tool.”

  “Why don’t you just shoot it off?”

  “Because we would both be deaf from the blast in this small of a room, and the potential for a ricochet is high. Beside, padlocks only succumb to bullets on TV shows, not in real life. Not only that, shots being fired might drive our little friends next door even deeper into hiding.”

  Jogging out to the main retail area, Bishop found the tool section. He hefted a few pry bars until he found one sure to do the job. Rushing back to the lounge, he showed Terri his find.

  “I love a man with a long, hard tool,” she joked.

  Rolling his eyes, Bishop inserted the tip behind the lock. Using the machine as a fulcrum, he applied considerable force in a single jerk. The lock didn’t break, but its bracket did. The machine was full of soda pops.

  The couple filled a cardboard box with a few handfuls, hoping it would be something to attract the children next door. Heading back to the neighboring building, they felt a little like Hansel and Gretel as they began laying a trail of soft drink-breadcrumbs from the doorway out into the open lot beyond. Bishop stacked several of the shiny cans where they could be seen from the inside.

  Terri returned to the entrance and yelled, “Hey, kids. Just to show you we are your friends, we’ve left some cans of soda out here. There’s grape and orange. They are a present, so come on out and help yourself.”

  Motioning Bishop to move away, the couple hid behind a stack of pallets piled nearby.

  A few minutes went by without anyone taking the bait.

  Terri looked at Bishop and shrugged her shoulders. Bishop returned the gesture, saying, “Well, it works for child molesters. Maybe they think you look like a pervert.”

  Again, Bishop’s shoulder received a swat.

  “This isn’t working,” Terri stated. Handing Bishop her rifle, she slowly walked to the mound of soda cans and sat down on the pavement. Choosing a grape, she popped open the can and took a small sip. She sensed eyes watching her every movement, so she began a routine of sipping the soda and then smiling at the door.

&
nbsp; Bishop was on edge, extremely unhappy with Terri’s maneuver. If someone came out of that doorway shooting, he wouldn’t be able to protect her. He was just about to stop the whole affair when rustling could be heard from inside the building.

  After Terri’s third drink, there was a commotion inside the doorway. Bishop heard a child’s voice whisper, “Mindy! Mindy! Don’t do it.”

  A mess of curly blond hair emerged from the entrance, barely visible from Bishop’s vantage. It disappeared quickly, more hushed warnings coming from inside. Terri stayed put, smiling at the empty door.

  The little head appeared again, this time staying longer. Terri waved for the child to join her, “Come on, baby, come on out and have a drink. You’re okay.”

  The little girl hesitated, taking a single step outside and then glancing nervously left and right. Terri played it well, acting like she was distracted by reading something on the soda can. More voices came from the inside, warning Mindy of a trap and begging her to come back and hide.

  Mindy wasn’t interested in the liquid treats. Her gaze fixed on Terri. “You look like my mommy,” the little voice squeaked. “I miss my mommy. You’re pretty like she is. Do you know where she is?”

  “I might know where she is, Mindy. I can take you to where there are lots of nice people. Why don’t you come sit down and tell me about your mom? You can have a drink while we’re talking.”

  Out into the daylight the child strode. Bishop was shocked at the youngster’s appearance. Her hair was hopelessly ratted and tangled, the back full of dried leaves and other bits of debris. Bishop guessed the girl was about 6 or 7 years old. She wore what was once a red and white checkered dress. The clothing was now a filthy brown color, several tears in the material showing here and there. The inner elbows and wrists of the girl’s arms were caked with dirt, her hands almost black. The tiny little legs below her skirt looked just as soiled and were rail thin all the way down to what were once white socks with a frilly lace trim. Her face was creased with a coating of dark smudges and sleeve-wiped dirt. Bishop’s chest hurt, the pitiful vision in front of him welling up emotions like he’d never felt before. That could be my child, he thought. It’s always the worst when the innocent suffer.