Lines in the Sand: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  “Yeah, I’m the one with the gun, remember? I was just shootin’ at a pig. I think it was a javelina.”

  “Really, you were hog huntin’?” Palmer was incredulous. She ran toward Riley, intent on whoopin’ him for scaring her. “You dope! You can’t do that in the dark and with us back there worried about you!”

  Riley slumped his shoulders. “But I thought we could have a good supper. Don’t you miss the taste of good Texas B-B-Q?”

  Palmer slugged him again as Riley cowered. Palmer was the only person on earth, except for their Momma, who could tame Riley. Cooper had often mused that any prospective wife of his would have to hire the Armstrong women as consultants on how to keep his younger brother in line.

  “Yeah, I like barbeque too, but when it’s slow cooked and dripping in Daddy’s sauce,” said Palmer. “I’m not gonna eat some feral hog full of disease out here, half-cooked with no sauce.”

  “It wasn’t feral, it was a javelina,” Riley began to argue the point, perhaps, Cooper thought, to deflect attention from his lack of common sense at firing a rifle, which might draw attention to them.

  Cooper decided to step in and play referee, as he’d done so often in his role as the oldest sibling still residing at the ranch. In that moment, he wondered if that would change once Duncan returned. If he returned.

  “Look here, y’all. There’s a difference between those feral hogs and a javelina. Javelinas are smaller and have that collar around their shoulder. Seriously, Riley, there probably aren’t any around here. Are you sure it wasn’t a dog?”

  Palmer roared in laughter. “A dog? Did you shoot at a dog? You are such a dope!”

  Riley shouldered the rifle and defended his shooting at the animal. “No, it wasn’t a dog. I know the difference, even in the dark. Either way, I missed ’cause it ran off.”

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” asked Palmer, not really expecting an answer.

  Cooper walked up to them both and put his arms around them. “C’mon, y’all. Forget it. Riley, I take it we’re all clear. Did you look around before you went huntin’?”

  “Yeah, Coop. Nothing here except a garden-shed-looking building around back. Somebody pried the lock off and the door was open. It smells like oil inside, but we could use it for the night.”

  Cooper walked them toward Red Rover. They looked at the space between the passenger side and the back of the oil truck. It was about a foot.

  “Well, Palmer, thanks for not wrecking the truck,” said Riley.

  “It would’ve been your fault, dork!” she shouted as she took a swipe at her brother.

  Cooper rolled his eyes in the darkness and fumbled around for his flashlight in his coat pocket. He began to walk around the two big rigs parked near the oil storage tanks. The fuel caps were dangling from the chains affixing them to their diesel tanks. He shined his light inside the tanks and saw they were empty.

  “Well, looks like someone beat us to it. Let’s see if we can sleep in the shed for the night.”

  Riley climbed up on the side of the larger of the two trucks. It was a Peterbilt with a sleeper cab.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” said Riley. “This looks like it might be dee-luxe accommodations.”

  Cooper and Palmer joined him.

  “Here’s the flashlight. Take a look inside,” said Palmer.

  Riley shined the light inside the window. “It’s empty. Let’s see.”

  He slowly opened the truck’s door, and an awful stench immediately struck him in the face.

  “Whoa,” groaned Palmer, who turned away in disgust.

  Cooper’s eyes began to water from the rancid smell. He immediately covered his mouth and nose as he spun around.

  Riley jumped off the running board and ran to the side to vomit. He retched several times as Palmer patted him on the back. Cooper wasted no time in slamming the door to the rig shut.

  “Somethin’ is dead in there, y’all,” said Riley in between heaves of vomit. The three of them moved away from the truck to join Riley, who was bent over in convulsions.

  Cooper sensed this deserted part of West Texas had seen evil, and the skin crawling on the back of his neck was his body’s way of agreeing.

  Chapter 57

  December 20

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  Major kissed Miss Lucy on the cheek as he grabbed his rifle and coat by the front door. For so many years, he’d followed a similar routine when he made the long commute into Lubbock to lead Company C of the Texas Rangers. The thought of finding a place in the city to stay during the work week never crossed his mind. For one thing, the two could never stand to be apart from one another, even for one night. Secondly, being a lawman isn’t a nine-to-five, Monday-thru-Friday job. The criminal element never slept during his days as a Ranger, and Major learned they didn’t rest in a post-apocalyptic world either.

  Preacher was milling about at the foot of the steps leading up to the ranch house. His old friend looked concerned. Granted, that was Preacher’s normal demeanor. It was only on rare occasions that Caleb O’Malley allowed his jovial Irish side to show. After their conversation the other day when they had ridden back from the Slaughters’ new home at Reinecke, Major wondered if there was a Caleb O’Malley still inside his friend’s body, or if that man was lost forever to one fateful night.

  “Talk to me, Preach,” said Major without wasting time on the usual morning formalities.

  “This morning around three a.m., the hands who were assigned perimeter patrol caught a group running toward the barnyard.”

  “What happened?”

  “The boys shouted at them to stop, but these people were bold and ignored ’em. Really, I guess desperate was the better word.”

  “Did they make it to the barnyard?” asked Major.

  “One did,” replied Preacher. “Our man fired a warning shot over his head, and the fellow fell facedown into the mud. Would you believe he kept on crawling toward the chicken coop? Our man fired again into the mud near his head, which finally got his attention. He got up and ran toward the river.”

  “What about the others?”

  “They ran off toward the river, too,” replied Preacher.

  Major began walking toward the barn, where several hands were feeding the horses. “I didn’t hear the gunshots. Why didn’t you raise me on the radio?”

  “There ain’t no sense in draggin’ you out of bed if we got the situation handled, boss. But we do need to make some changes. That barnyard is like a magnet to anyone who gets a whiff of or hears the chickens. We either gotta move it closer to the ranch house or add security just for that area.”

  Major looked around and considered the ranch’s layout. The barnyard was ideally situated next to the windmill-powered well and the river’s watershed. Moving it was not really an option. The better solution was security, but they were short-handed.

  “We have our outpost towers constructed,” started Major. “Those platforms are twenty-four feet off the ground and give us great line of sight in all directions. What if we build another one near the barn?”

  Preacher put his hands in his pockets as he kicked at the last remaining snow, which had fallen a couple of days before. “We need personnel to man these posts, boss. I think it’s time to call on the Slaughters to contribute to security.”

  “What are you thinkin’? I mean, we know nothing about their capabilities and how they would hold up if we had a gunfight on our hands. I trust our people. I’m not so sure about theirs.”

  Preacher patted Major on the back as he led them into the barn. “I’ve thought about this. Chris assures me they can handle a rifle. I say we use them during the day to man the guard towers. Their most important task will be to watch for approaching refugees and notify the rest of us. At night, we’ll put our best people on perimeter security.”

  “Agreed. I’ll speak to Chris today.”

  “Boss, there’s one more thing,” started Preacher. “This is your c
all, but just hear me out.”

  Major stopped wandering past the horse stalls and leaned up against a post. “Of course, go ahead.”

  “I’m not sayin’ our folks are scared, okay? But here’s the thing. We’ve told them to use warning shots and every means possible to avoid killin’ these folks. Last night showed me that the level of desperation is increasing. What we found the other day in Gail gives me nightmares.”

  “Me too, Preach, but we still live in a society that observes the rule of law. I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere when it comes to shootin’ folks. I’ve already shot one man full of bird shot just for trespassing in our barnyard.”

  “He had it comin’,” interjected Preacher.

  Major laughed. “You and I may agree on that, but the laws in Texas are still in place, the last time I looked. Deadly force can only be used when someone attempts to enter our homes, vehicles, or place of business. It’s called the Castle Doctrine.”

  Preacher scowled. He grabbed a shovel off a hook on the post next to Major. He drew a large square in the barn’s dirt floor. “All I’m sayin’ is this,” he began, pointing to the center of the box. “We’re over here, acting like law-abiding citizens. Out here, there are desperate animals willing to do anything to survive. Major, we’ve been lucky so far. The people who’ve trespassed on Armstrong Ranch have been unorganized and unarmed. What happened to the Slaughters and the sheriff is proof all of that is changing now. It doesn’t matter if Texas has electricity or not. Folks are becoming lawless.”

  Major considered Preacher’s argument. At this moment, to his knowledge, Borden County didn’t have any form of active law enforcement. In some respects, Texas had reverted back to the 1800s.

  Major gave his opinion. “Okay, let’s look at it this way. If I ever had to make an argument defending the activities of our people in a court of law, this is what I’d say. Armstrong Ranch is our castle. It is where we live and work. Anyone encroaching upon our land will be, under the circumstances, considered to have the intentions to use deadly force against anyone on the ranch. Therefore, everything is self-defense under the Castle Doctrine.”

  “You sound like a lawyer,” said Preacher with a smile. “Do you think it’s a stretch?”

  “Maybe, but not under the circumstances. Listen, I’ve been around too many lawyers in my lifetime. I don’t think there are any who’d argue against it, not in Texas. Anyway, Preach, tell our people we’ve taken the gloves off. But know this, if the last week or so is any indication, the bodies are gonna start piling up.”

  Chapter 58

  December 21

  Route 115

  West of Patricia, Texas

  Red Rover sputtered, gasped and eventually gave in as its sixteen-gallon fuel tank was emptied. Riley muscled the steering wheel to the right as their faithful steed called it a day barely ten miles from where the Rodeo Kids had spent the night in a toolshed.

  “Well, that’s that,” said Riley as he removed the keys from the ignition. “Do we hoof it to the ranch? Or do you wanna walk up to Patricia to hunt down some diesel?”

  Cooper lifted the handle and opened the passenger door. He held it open as Palmer exited and then let go, allowing the door to close itself under its own weight. The sliding-glass window rattled against the steel tracks where the truck’s old rain gaskets had worn off.

  Cooper laughed to himself as he looked at the vehicle, which had driven them to within sixty miles of home. They hadn’t suffered as much as a scratch to the Landy’s shiny red paint job. Despite traveling through snow and muddy conditions, the truck was relatively clean.

  “I don’t want to abandon it,” he started as Riley and Palmer joined him in the middle of the road. “The sign back there said Patricia was ten miles. I guess we’ve traveled about five since then.”

  “Six,” interjected Riley. “I clocked it.”

  “I remember Patricia,” said Palmer. “I went there to visit some friends from Klondike High School when I was a senior. There’s not much there, but I know there’s a gas station and Patricia Farmer’s Cotton gin, which was owned by my friend’s family. They live up in Lamesa, but they might have someone at the gin. I could ask them for some diesel.”

  Cooper shrugged and looked around again. There were no signs of life.

  “Four miles will take us an hour to walk up, and an hour back, plus time to find fuel. That’s three hours that we’ll be separated.”

  Palmer volunteered. “I’ll go. I know the family and can get us enough to make it home. It’s only fifty miles to the ranch from Patricia. One can of diesel should do it.”

  “Coop, she can’t go alone,” said Riley. “Why don’t you walk with her, and I’ll hold down the fort?”

  “Who gets the rifle?” asked Coop.

  “Y’all take it,” replied Riley. “Nobody’s gonna come around here, but you might run into some folks up ahead.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Palmer.

  “Yeah, y’all go ahead. I’ll take a little siesta.”

  Cooper retrieved the rifle from the truck and then he put his arm around Riley. “No naps, bud. Remember what we found in the sleeper cab of that truck? I looked this morning while it was my watch. The driver had been shot in the head while he was sleeping. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

  Cooper and Palmer walked at a pretty quick pace, arriving at the cotton gin facility in less than an hour. The multibuilding facility didn’t have any fuel tanks, and the only vehicles available to them were gas-powered trucks. Cooper broke into the trucks, searching for keys, and then they searched the company’s offices, which had already been ransacked. There were no car keys or anything else of value. So they moved on.

  They walked closer to the small town, and they found more of the same—abandoned businesses and homes, which had already been looted. Cooper and Palmer spent nearly an hour looking for any source of diesel, or signs of life, to no avail.

  They finally declared their mission a failure and decided to gather up Riley for the walk home. The skies were blue and the temperatures were warming, giving them hope that they’d avoid freezing at night. The weather in West Texas could sneak up on you fast, as there weren’t any significant natural impediments to fronts racing across the flatland.

  After being gone four hours, much longer than anticipated, they were already showing signs of exhaustion as Red Rover came into view.

  Palmer began running toward the truck.

  “Coop! Riley’s in trouble.”

  *****

  They dropped the diesel cans and the siphoning hose in the middle of the road. Cooper saw a group of people pushing and shoving Riley, so he wasted no time in racing toward his brother. Whereas the night before, he’d rushed into the darkness to see if his brother might be in danger, this time he could see for himself.

  “Get away from the truck!” Riley shouted as two men tried to outflank him and made their way to the back door of Red Rover.

  Riley moved to stop them, but another man jumped on his back and grabbed Riley around the neck. Riley spun around and around like one of the bull’s Cooper rode, attempting to throw the man off his back.

  Cooper was closing the gap just as Riley backed into the side of the truck, knocking the wind out of his attacker. However, he was turned away from the other two men and didn’t see the hammer that was about to strike him in the back of the head.

  With the precision of a seasoned military professional, Cooper raised the AR-15, placed the hammer-wielding man in his sights and quickly pulled the trigger twice.

  The bullets sailed past Riley and struck the man in the chest, throwing him backwards into his partner. Riley instinctively pressed himself against the side of the truck to avoid the gunfire because Cooper was not done yet.

  The uninjured assailant rolled his dead buddy out of the way and scrambled for the hammer. Cooper didn’t hesitate as he fired four shots at the man, catching him in the leg and the top of his skull. He was killed instantly.

/>   The third attacker crawled under Red Rover and began to cry, begging for his life. Riley reached down and grabbed him by the legs and attempted to pull him out. The man, turned sniveling coward, wrapped his arms around the axle and held on for dear life.

  “I’ve wrestled stronger animals than you!” shouted a determined Riley as he gave one more forceful tug. The man lost his grip and let go, sending Riley tumbling onto the asphalt from the momentum. The attacker considered crawling back under when he felt the barrel of the AR-15 pressed into the back of his neck.

  “Get up!” ordered Cooper with a growl. He’d been mad in his life, but nothing like this. Now he knew what One-Night Stand had felt when Cooper rode him. He wanted blood.

  “Don’t kill me, puhleese!”

  “Shut up or I will!” Cooper shouted back. He glanced over at Riley, who had finally stood up in the road and was dusting himself off. Riley nodded to his brother, indicating he was okay.

  The man stood and leaned with his back against Red Rover, hands high in the air. Cooper tossed the rifle to Riley and grabbed the man by the throat. The man began to gasp for air and clutched Cooper’s hands, seeking relief from the death grip.

  Cooper was incensed. “This is on you! Was it worth it? You attacked my brother, and your buddy there, the one with two bullets in his chest, tried to kill him with a hammer. What’s wrong with you?”

  The man began to cough as he mouthed words, but Cooper didn’t care what his answer was. Out of anger and frustration, he hurled the man on top of his two dead friends, causing him to flail in their blood. Without saying a word, he began walking back to where his cowboy hat had flown off in the highway.

  He bent down on one knee to retrieve it, and then he stayed there. Cooper prayed for forgiveness before he retched over and over again.

  Chapter 59

  December 21

  Land of a Thousand Wells

  West Texas