Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2)

by R. E. McDermott

  “Agreed,” Howell said, hands on the wheel and her own eyes fixed up at the bridge as they approached. “But I also figure the last place I’d stay is in an urban marina when I could duck out of sight into a wooded inlet upriver where nobody could get to me by road.” She hesitated. “But you’re right, it’s better safe than sorry.”

  Howell cut speed abruptly as they moved under the bridge, steering hard left toward the strip of wooded land lining the western riverbank under the bridge.

  “What are you doing?” Alvarez asked.

  “We’re only a hundred yards from the yacht club channel,” Howell said. “It’s to the left, just past these trees. We’ll go ashore here under the bridge and do a little recon from the safety of the trees. The boat will be directly under the bridge, so no one can spot it from above.”

  “Good idea,” Alvarez said. “Jones and I will—”

  “Negative,” Howell said. “I need to see it myself. It’ll be me and you while the other guys watch the boat.”

  West End of I-10 Bridge

  Beaumont, Texas

  The police cruiser was parked at right angles across the highway in the westbound lanes, barring nonexistent traffic. The windows were open and its occupants sat in a lethargic daze. They were unkempt and unshaven, and a successive series of circular sweat stains emanating from the armpits of their rumpled shirts tracked the number of days since their last uniform change as surely as rings marked the age of a tree.

  One of them stirred. “This sucks! The sun ain’t hardly up, and you can already fry an egg on the road. Turn on the AC.”

  The driver shook his head. “You know the orders; fifteen minutes of AC every hour after eight. We got a while yet, and if Spike catches us wasting gas, we’re dead meat. So quit bein’ a whiny pussy; you’re gettin’ on my nerves.”

  “Come on, who’s gonna know? There ain’t nobody around but us, and I don’t even know why we’re here. Nobody’s traveling the interstate anymore. We ain’t pulled any pussy or plunder off the bridge in a week.”

  “Everybody’s gonna know when you get drunk again and start running your mouth. These orders came straight from Spike. Have you forgotten what he did to Miller last week when he screwed up?” The driver shuddered. “He is one mean dude, and I ain’t gonna cross him. And if Spike wants us here, we’re here. That’s all there is to it, so quit your bitchin—”

  The driver cocked his head. “Hear that?”

  “I don’t hear nothing—”

  “It’s a boat. Not an outboard, something else,” the driver said.

  His partner shrugged. “Still don’t hear nothing.”

  “That’s ’cause it’s stopped now, numb nuts,” the driver said, reaching for the radio mike. “I’ll call it in; you go see if you can spot it.”

  “Up yours,” his partner said, motioning to the bridge jammed solid with abandoned cars. “We can’t drive, and I ain’t walking all the way up there in this heat to see some boat that ain’t even there. If you’re so damned anxious to see what it is, YOU go, and I’LL call it in. Maybe I’ll turn on a little AC while I’m at it.”

  The driver glared. “Am I going to have to kick your ass, Cecil? You do remember the last time, right?”

  Cecil cursed under his breath. “All right, dammit, but you come with me. If I have to tromp around in this heat, I want company. And besides, we shouldn’t call it in unless we really see something; otherwise they’ll have us chasing our tails all over the place.”

  The driver considered, then nodded. They got out, the driver grimacing when Cecil slammed his door. “Think you can make any more noise, asshole?”

  Cecil snorted. “Like it matters. Let’s get this done. And when we get back, we WILL be turning on the AC.”

  It was nearly a half mile walk from the foot of the bridge to the center of the river, and the two cons arrived sweat-soaked and irritable.

  “We’re here, genius,” Cecil said. “So where’s your boat.”

  “Keep it up, Cecil, and your ass is going in the river.” The driver looked over the guardrail. “Don’t worry, it’s not much of a fall; but, oh yeah, you can’t swim, can you?”

  Cecil stepped back from the guardrail and changed the subject. “What about that marina down there? Reckon the teams hit it yet?”

  The driver shrugged. “Probably not. There’s a lot of low-hanging fruit out there, and plenty of stuff in mid-county. I doubt they’ve had time to get this far north.”

  “Wonder what’s in all them covered docks? I can’t see nothin’ but roof from up here.”

  The driver glanced at his watch. “Not our problem. Let’s head back. By the time we get to the car, we can run the AC.”

  ***

  “That was close,” Howell whispered to Alvarez as the men above them moved away, their voices fading. “It was a good thing we heard the car door.”

  Alvarez nodded and whispered back, “Sound carries a long way when it doesn’t have to compete with a thousand other sounds. It’s like being in a library twenty-four seven.”

  “I don’t hear them anymore. You think they’re gone?”

  Alvarez glanced at his watch. “Let’s give them five more minutes, just to be sure.”

  Howell nodded, and they waited in silence until Alvarez nodded and moved silently from beneath the bridge. She followed through the scrub brush and trees. They reached the bank in minutes, and Alvarez parted the brush to reveal covered docks across the man-made access channel. What had been invisible to the cons on the bridge above was all too visible at water level. The berths were largely unoccupied, validating Howell’s theory of the likely behavior of any boat owners lucky enough to have reached their boats.

  “What do you think, ma’am?” Alvarez asked.

  “Looks like only about a third of the berths are occupied, and I don’t see any activity, so I’m guessing the boat owners aren’t around. There’s plenty of room for us under cover, but I’m concerned about the noise, especially since our arrival drew a look.”

  Alvarez nodded. “I was thinking the same. That enclosed boat won’t paddle worth a damn, but we can walk it around to this point on a rope. We’ll be less than a hundred feet across to the docks, with no current up in this side channel. We should be able to paddle it that far without any problem, right up into one of those covered berths.” He shook his head. “But it’s not getting in I worry about, it’s leaving.”

  “We’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

  ***

  They pulled into an empty berth between two large cabin cruisers, and the Coasties worked in tandem to check and clear the abandoned boats in the covered berths. When they confirmed all the boats were unoccupied, they turned their attention to the yacht club grounds while the Pecos Trader crewmen checked the boats more closely. Alvarez and Jones returned a short time later, both grinning.

  “What’s the deal?” Howell asked.

  “All clear, ma’am,” Alvarez said. “And we’re grinning because all the boat owners who bugged out left their vehicles here—”

  “And left hidden keys,” Howell finished his sentence.

  Alvarez’s grin widened as he held up three magnetic key holders.

  “There’s almost forty cars out there,” he said. “It stood to reason some folks would suffer from lack of imagination as far as hiding places go. We got wheels, and the marina has aboveground tanks for both gas and diesel. The departing boat owners hit ’em hard, but there’s some left. We can drain out enough to supplement the fuel we brought.”

  “Terrific,” Howell said. “We’re looking good all around. Six boats are big enough to accommodate folks, all with generators and toilets and at least some fuel. We won’t risk running the generators and we’ll flush with buckets, but at least we’ll be able to house people while we gather them up. And maybe we can take some of these boats with us. It’s cramped on the ship now and likely to get a whole lot worse.”

  The next decision was how to deploy. After mulling it over, H
owell decided not to leave a guard on the lifeboat. Jimmy and Pete knew the way to most of the other crewmen’s homes, and she needed both of the Coasties for security. If cons or gangbangers found the boat, the only thing an outgunned defender could do was die. They came together, and they would stay together.

  The storage buildings housing trailered boats yielded enough gas cans to drain the club’s tank. They loaded their newfound bounty and several of the cans they brought into the three ‘borrowed’ vehicles, and Howell held her breath as they tried the engines. Each started smoothly and ran quietly, much quieter than their boat engine. Maybe this will work after all, she thought from the passenger seat as Jimmy Gillespie drove through the yacht club gate and turned north on Marina Street.

  716 Williams Road

  Beaumont, Texas

  Same Day, 10:40 a.m.

  Jimmy’s parents’ house was closest, and he figured his family would congregate there in an emergency. Howell was also hoping for a read on the situation ashore and figured it was better to stay together until they had one. They worked their way to the far north edge of town through older, less traveled neighborhoods, some blighted and run-down, others neatly maintained and resistant to the march of urban decay. All the while, they were ever vigilant for ‘cons turned cop’ or any other threats.

  The deserted streets were eerily quiet, as if the populace had fled at the sound of their engines. Here and there the flash of a face at a window or movement of a curtain told them they were being watched, but not welcomed. The houses got more and more run-down and farther apart, and many seemed deserted as they moved north on potholed streets.

  “Mom and Pop have both lived up here since they were kids,” Jimmy said. “My brothers and I tried to get them to move, but they wouldn’t hear of it. We finally just left them alone.”

  Here and there, the run-down homes were separated by vacant lots, and Howell glanced woodland through the openings.

  “Are we still in the city?” she asked.

  Jimmy snorted. “Barely, but it depends on who you ask. If you asked the property tax people, the answer is yes. But if you’re looking to get a pothole fixed, the answer is no.”

  They rode on in silence for another few minutes before pulling to the curb across from a modest but neat frame dwelling. Alvarez pulled up in the center of the deserted street, abreast of them, to form a sheltered area between the two vehicles. Jimmy got out between the cars and Howell joined him.

  Jimmy stared at the house.

  “What is it, Jimmy?” Howell asked.

  Jimmy swallowed. “I’ve been thinking of nothin’ else for a month, and now I’m scared. What if … what if they’re …”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I’m sure they’re fine, Jimmy,” she said, then paused. “But—”

  “But if they’re not, I gotta know that too,” Jimmy said, and moved from between the cars to start across the overgrown lawn.

  He was halfway to the door when it burst open and a slim red-haired woman darted across the porch and over the lawn into his arms. She was sobbing and laughing at the same time, clinging to Jimmy like she’d never let go. Seconds later, two small boys, twins by the looks of them, ran out of the house and wrapped their arms around their parents’ legs. Jimmy separated himself from his wife with difficulty and scooped up a boy in each arm, whereupon his wife wrapped all three of them in a hug. The boys’ facial resemblance to Jimmy and flaming red hair left no doubt as to their parentage.

  Howell smiled. At least something was working out.

  More people emerged—men, women, and a few kids. All the men and some of the women were armed, and they were all smiling, some less confidently than others as they studied Howell and her group and shot nervous glances up and down the street.

  An older woman, obviously Jimmy’s mother, separated herself from the group and rushed toward him, a man close behind her. Jimmy’s wife gave ground grudgingly and let the older woman hug her son.

  “Dang, boy,” said the older man, “Y’all scared us to death rolling up like that and sittin’ there. We almost shot you.”

  Jimmy grinned. “That would’ve been a fine homecoming, Pop.”

  The two other men in the group bore a strong family resemblance; brothers, Howell concluded. One of them shot a worried glance up and down the street and spoke.

  “We best get those vehicles out of sight,” he said.

  The second brother nodded and ran to open a wooden gate beside the house, revealing a narrow passage into the fenced backyard. Jimmy turned to Howell, but she was already moving to their vehicle and ordering the others to do the same. Seconds later, she rolled through the narrow opening into a surprisingly spacious backyard.

  The lot was narrow and deep, well over an acre, she guessed, and hidden from street view by the bulk of the modest house. It was screened on both sides by a tall wooden privacy fence, which ran well back into the yard before it was replaced by an even taller, impenetrable-looking hedge around the remaining border of the large lot. Behind the hedge at the back of the lot, she could see the towering trees of thick woodland; no neighbors there.

  On closer inspection, the ‘modest’ house was a bit less so, with a substantial extension on its back side. Fruit trees ran down either side of the long yard, and she could see a large garden to the rear, with the green splash of growing plants. There was a three-bay garage, with what looked like an attached shop, and a small aboveground swimming pool. Half a dozen vehicles of various types were parked around the garage, including a boxy delivery truck with Lone Star Marine printed on the side in large letters, underneath an even larger stylized logo of a ship painted like the Texas state flag.

  She parked her SUV next to the other cars and got out as Alvarez and Pete Brown followed suit. The others followed the cars through the gate, and one of his brothers closed and barred it as Jimmy’s father separated from the group and walked over, his hand extended.

  “Earl Gillespie,” he said as Howell shook his hand. “We sure appreciate y’all gettin’ Jimmy home.”

  Howell smiled. “He more or less got himself home. We just came along for the ride. I’m just glad we found you folks all okay. It’s been pretty rough all over.”

  Earl Gillespie nodded. “It has that. We been blessed with not having to get out much since all the meanness started. We catch rainwater for drinking and cooking, and we cut a hole in the back hedge and dug us a latrine in the woods. There’s enough deadfall back there so we got plenty of firewood for cooking and such, and plenty of wash water from the swimming pool. It ain’t exactly what we’re used to, but we been gettin’ by—better than most folks, I reckon.”

  “It sounds like it,” Howell said. “What about food?”

  “We still had stuff in the pantry and things we put up from the garden last year—” he nodded toward the Lone Star Marine truck “—but mostly we been eatin’ outa Mike’s truck.”

  Howell looked confused.

  “That would be me, Mike Gillespie,” one of Jimmy’s brothers said. “I drive … or drove, I guess, for a local ship chandler. When we have a real early morning delivery, we load up the night before and the driver takes the truck home. That way we can go straight to the ship in the morning. Except when the power went out and all the traffic lights were down, everything was all screwed up, so I tried to wait it out. When we finally figured out what was going on, I brought the truck over here. It wasn’t a real big order, mostly canned goods and noodles and stuff, but we’ve been able to stretch it.”

  Earl Gillespie shook his head. “We’re blessed to have it, but we been eatin’ some weird stuff.”

  Mike Gillespie grinned. “It was for a Korean ship, so you might say some of the canned stuff is a little ‘exotic.’

  Earl shuddered. “Eyeballs and assholes is what it is.”

  “EARL GILLESPIE, mind your language,” Mrs. Gillespie said.

  “The truth is the truth, Dorothy,” he said.

  Howell suppressed a grin and changed the sub
ject. “What’s up with the fake cops, Mr. Gillespie?”

  He shook his head. “Call me Earl. And it ain’t good. After the first week or so, the gangs and no-goods were running wild, and the cops couldn’t seem to keep a handle on ’em. Then the cops changed and started putting ’em down hard, just shoot first and no questions, no Miranda rights, none of that stuff. Just bang, you’re dead. At first folks thought that was okay until they realized the cops were cons and they were only killing the bangers to keep all the loot for themselves.”

  “Did anyone do anything?” Howell asked.

  Earl shrugged. “Like what? All the cops are dead, and from what we hear on the radio, the National Guard seems to be tied up in Houston and Dallas and San Antonio, places like that. And from the rumors about FEMA, we sure as hell don’t want them here, so who’s left?”

  “I just figured people would fight back,” Howell said.

  “We are. They come around here, and they’ll get ventilated and they pretty much know that,” Earl said. “They don’t seem real eager to take up anything resembling a fair fight. After they put down the bangers, they seem more than happy to stick to folks who can’t fight back. If you have a few armed men and you’re minding your own business, they’ll like as not leave you be unless you’re sittin’ on a big load of goodies they know about. That’s why we been real cagey about the truck. The only other time they seem to strike hard is if they think someone’s trying to get resistance organized. I guess they figure that’s a threat.”

  Howell nodded, silently processing the information. Earl cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Pete Brown and Alvarez.

  “One other thing you should know,” Earl said. “If you ain’t white, they’ll pretty much shoot you on sight, no questions asked.”

  Howell saw both men stiffen. She turned her attention back to Earl. “Do you know how many of them there are or where they are?”

  “There’s a bunch of them, for sure,” Earl said. “But we been seeing less of them in the last few days. I’m figuring they’re low on gas, so they’re not moving around as much. The boys say they’re sticking to the major intersections and roads in and out of town.”