A Stunning Betrayal: Alone: Book 9

by Darrell Maloney

  Chapter 22

  The night went fairly well.

  The interstate between Santa Rosa and Tucumcari changed considerably as the terrain transitioned from mountains to desert.

  It was flat now, almost flat as a pancake, which made it easier on the horses as well as the drivers.

  The moon was at three-quarters, which provided plenty of light for the horses to drive themselves most of the time.

  Horses are intelligent creatures. Many would say one of the most intelligent. Smarter than dogs, even, if you listen to many of the experts.

  And way smarter than cats.

  The horses learned to follow the dashed white lines which divided the highway lanes.

  After all, they looked down at the pavement most of the time. The lines were pretty much glaring them in the face.

  The lines became their new normal. Their guiding light, if you will.

  They looked up occasionally to see if there were any vehicles in their path, and if there were the lead horse led the other around it.

  Then he found the white lines again and continued on their journey.

  Most of the time, assuming there was enough moonlight and starlight for the horses to see the lines, there was little for the wagon master to do.

  Other than watch out for things which might startle or spook the horses.

  A couple of times curious coyotes came close enough to make the horses nervous. One stopped dead in his tracks for a moment, which of course stopped the other horse since they were attached to one another.

  That caused the rig to lurch to a stop.

  But the coyote soon ran off into the brush after determining the team of horses was too big to bring down and eat.

  And the rig certainly wasn’t anything he wanted to chew on.

  Curiosity satisfied, he bolted back into the brush in search of a rabbit.

  There were a couple other times when the horses got skittish because they saw or sensed a snake crossing the road.

  Once, a rattler coiled in the center of their lane and entertained them with his music.

  The horses, they weren’t very appreciative.

  They were at a standoff for a minute or two until Dave directed the others to cover their ears, then used his rifle to take off the head of the snake.

  The horses still refused to move, though, until Dave walked over and kicked the carcass into the weeds.

  Yes, the horses were pretty much driving themselves. The driver’s job was secondary now, merely to loosely hold the reins and watch for trouble.

  Trouble and unwelcome critters.

  As they’d gone through the Flagstaff mountains Dave saw a mountain lion eyeing them from just inside the tree line.

  It was the one and only time along the journey he was afraid.

  He didn’t fear coyotes, which are typically afraid of humans.

  And rattlers were no problem, as long as one was careful.

  Cougars, though, were capable much more mayhem.

  If they were starving and desperate enough, or were rabid or wounded, they could charge the rig.

  They could grab Beth and drag her to the ground in the blink of an eye.

  A cougar couldn’t drag her into the woods before Dave shot it dead, but it could cause mortal injuries to the girl.

  Dave was so worried when he saw the beast he stopped the rig and hopped down.

  He asked Sal to take the reins and rode on the rig’s tailgate for several miles until he was sure the big cat wasn’t stalking them.

  They were out of mountain lion country now, for they were seldom seen in the desert flatlands.

  But it served as another reminder to Dave that there were so many threats out there to be aware of. So many things to watch for.

  So many ways to die.

  They rode all night, and along about sunrise Sal professed to not feeling well.

  “Would you mind taking the reins a bit early, Dave? I think I need to lie down for a bit.”

  “Are you okay, Sal?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well. It seemed a creature resembling Bigfoot invaded my tent and interrupted a wonderful dream about Nellie.”

  He managed a smile, but Dave still felt a bit guilty.

  “I’m sorry. I thought…”

  “I know, my friend. But I’m okay. A bit tired, a bit dizzy. Nothing a nap can’t help with.”

  He didn’t mention the tightness he was feeling in his chest, or that he couldn’t focus his sights on any one thing. Everything seemed to be double or triple and sometimes things seemed to spin around in front of him.

  But he was hiding his symptoms well.

  He walked into the brush to urinate, and while there pulled his bottle of aspirin tablets from his pocket.

  He was taking more than the doctor-recommended one tablet a day now.

  He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or bad.

  But his logic was that if one tablet thinned his blood and helped prevent a heart attack then surely three tablets would be three times as effective.

  At least he hoped.

  Just in case he was wrong, he’d never exceed three tablets a day no matter how much it hurt.

  When he returned Beth went to him and held him.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Grandpa Sal?”

  “Why yes, child. I’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t you dare die on me. I love you way more than I ever thought I could, and I don’t want to lose you.”

  He turned so she wouldn’t see the moisture in his eyes.

  It was bad enough his heart was starting to fail. Now her words were causing it to break as well.

  Chapter 23

  They made camp at a highway rest area. They were fortunate in that this one actually had working toilet facilities.

  And that was better than gifts under the Christmas tree or ice cream on a summer day.

  Well, not really. But it was nice.

  Many travelers in the United States don’t know the difference between a “rest area” and a “picnic area” on the nation’s interstates.

  It’s simple, really, though amazing how many travelers never put two and two together.

  Rest areas have rest rooms.

  Picnic areas don’t.

  While picnic areas certainly provide a place for one to rest from their drive or nap for a bit, they certainly do not provide one a place to sit and do their business.

  A recent trend when building new rest areas or renovating old ones is to provide toilets which do not need water to operate.

  The toilets are water free, and allow waste to drop directly into pits beneath the restrooms. It falls into a pile of mulch, where it is broken down naturally by a combination of rainwater and microorganisms.

  It was a refreshing change for all three to actually have a place to sit to use the restroom. It brought back memories of better times.

  As Sal said, “It makes one feel normal again.”

  As they prepared to nap the day away in the shade of a huge oak tree Beth noticed a billboard advertising a McDonald’s restaurant in Tucumcari.

  “Dad, what’s a Tucumcari?”

  “It’s not a what, it’s a where, honey.”

  “I know that. But I mean what is it? Is the city named after a bird, or a tree, or what?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Many of the cities in this part of the country are given Indian names. It might be Apache for ‘lonely land.’ Or Comanche for ‘golden sunset.’

  “Or even Plains Indian for ‘Silly girl who asks too many questions.’”

  “Cute, Dad.”

  “Yeah, I thought so too.

  “I’m sorry I don’t know what it means. It may be named after someone too. A chief, or a warrior. Or an Indian god.

  “Or maybe just an ordinary person. Like Smith, Arkansas or Johnson City, Texas.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  She looked toward the sign again.

  “Hey, look. Somebody is coming.”

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sp; Dave and Sal looked, and sure enough a group of travelers were walking past the Tucumcari sign and headed their way.

  They looked harmless enough. A man and two women, pushing two baby strollers loaded down with their belongings.

  But Dave would delay crawling into his tent to sleep for just a bit longer so he could meet with them and check them out.

  One couldn’t be too careful these days.

  Sometimes people who appeared to be peaceful and harmless turned out not to be.

  And it was always nice to talk to people coming in the opposite direction, to gain information about what might lie ahead of them.

  Dave walked back to the highway to greet them.

  He left his rifle with Sal and kept his hands well away from his handgun, lest he be viewed as a threat himself.

  “Good morning, folks. How are y’all doing?”

  “Good, friend. How about yourselves?”

  “Pretty good. We’ve got some extra water on the back of our rig if you need any.”

  “Thank you kindly, Mister. But we filled up all our bottles from a stream before we left Tucumcari.”

  “How are things in Tucumcari? Is it a friendly town? Any areas we should avoid?”

  “Tucumcari is a nice town. The natives are helpful and kind. But you don’t want to go beyond there. Not any farther east, anyway.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “They warned us of a band of marauders. The biggest gang of outlaws they’ve ever seen. Said there are dozens of them. Maybe a hundred. Most of ‘em on horseback, some on bicycles until they get horses.”

  “Really?”

  “We were headed from Santa Rosa to Amarillo to see if my cousins survived the blackout.

  “But after what they told us, we’re headed back to Santa Rosa.

  “My cousins are nice people. But visiting them ain’t worth dying for.

  “We decided to try again in the fall. Maybe the marauders will have moved off by then.”

  “What do they want, exactly?”

  “Same things they always want, I reckon. Gold, silver, whiskey and women. Rumor is they’re even taking kids. If I was you I’d think twice about going past Tucumcari with your little girl over there.”

  “Where are they, exactly?”

  “They’re sticking to Interstate 40 between Tucumcari and Amarillo. Just sweeping back and forth, stopping and robbing everybody they come across. Sometimes shooting them, sometimes letting them go.

  “Depending on what mood they’re in, I reckon.”

  “Any advice for us?”

  “If you’re heading east through Amarillo, I’d divert in Tucumcari. Head south or north and steer a wide path around Amarillo.

  “I know it’ll make your journey longer, but it’ll be a damn sight safer.”

  “We’re headed through Amarillo and to Oklahoma City, then north to Kansas City. Your way west is clear all the way back to Santa Rosa. It’s a shame you won’t get to see your cousins this trip.”

  “Well, it is what it is, I guess. We’ll see ‘em again eventually. Good luck to you, friend.”

  “Same to you, sir.”

  The travelers went on their way and Dave walked back over to his camp.

  Beth and Sal knew from the look upon his face even before he said the words, “We’ve got a problem.”

  Chapter 24

  They could have slept and discussed the new roadblock in their path before they set out again.

  But while Beth would have slept either way, the men would likely be too antsy to.

  They had a big decision to make, and it was better to make it now, before they went to sleep, so they knew what they were dealing with.

  “I don’t like the idea of heading north,” Sal said.

  “To the north it gets pretty mountainous pretty quickly. We’d have to go through the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. It would be rough on the horses.

  “And we don’t have any spares. If one went lame the other would have to pull more than its share of the load, and it would soon go lame as well.”

  Sal wasn’t quite as experienced in traveling the highways and byways of the United States.

  Dave, back in his Marine Corps days, spent a lot of time driving from one assignment to another and on vacations back home.

  He knew the Interstate system like the back of his hand.

  “What’s south of here?” Sal asked.

  “Not much other than sagebrush. Hundreds of miles of it, dotted by little towns here and there. We could make our way southeast to Lubbock, then shoot northeast back up to Wichita Falls.

  “From Wichita Falls it’s a straight shot north to Oklahoma City.”

  “How many days will that add to our journey?”

  “At least a week. Maybe ten days. But if what they said was true, we don’t want to go anywhere near Amarillo. This will keep us at least a hundred miles away from it.

  “I don’t like the delay. But I dislike the possibility of losing our lives or our horses even less.”

  “Okay, it’s settled then. I vote to take the detour.

  “But I’ve never been to Lubbock, or to Wichita Falls. Do you know anything about them?”

  “I’ve been to both. They’re good towns, both of them.

  “At least they were the last time I saw them. But you and I both know how things change.”

  Sal looked at Beth and asked, “What do you think, child?”

  Beth beamed, pleased that the men were asking for her input.

  She felt somehow grown-up. They actually valued her opinion.

  “I’m tired of mean men thinking it’s okay to steal other people’s stuff. If we can go around them, that’s the best thing to do.”

  Dave tussled her head and said, “Okay, Peanut. You make good sense. Go around them we will.”

  The three of them crawled into their tents.

  Sal was careful to tie open the flap of his tent’s tiny window, so that if he slept late again Dave could check on him without barging into the tent.

  As was his habit, he said a silent prayer before getting comfortable and drifting off to sleep.

  A prayer for his son and his family, murdered months before by soulless scumbags.

  And for his beloved Nellie, who was certainly with them now up in heaven.

  He asked God to let him remain on earth just a little bit longer, so he could meet with Beth’s mom and try to make things right with her.

  Lastly, he asked God to help little Beth when he finally did pass away, so she was able to cope with his death.

  Of course Dave’s presence would help tremendously. But she was still young and impressionable, and had fallen in love with the old man.

  It was, perhaps, very telling of the type of man he was that he was more concerned for her well being than his own.

  But the truth was Sal was rather sick of living.

  Truth was a big part of him wanted to die and get it over with, so he could be with his Nellie.

  Wherever she might be in the great beyond.

  So if he closed his eyes and never woke up it wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.

  Given his “druthers,” though, he’d rather wait to pass until Beth was safely in the arms of her mom. Especially after he had a dream a few days before of Dave being shot from a distance by an unknown sniper.

  It dawned on him then that in a world where nothing was guaranteed, there was no assurance Dave would make it to Kansas City himself.

  That possibility scared Sal to a degree, and strengthened his resolve to make it there himself.

  For it would be the worst thing in his world for both men to die and to leave little Beth on her own.

  In the middle of nowhere, and with hundreds of miles to go.

  Beth was a spunky girl.

  And she was very intelligent for an eight year old.

  She could probably make it on her own, even against a world as bad as it now was.

  But it wouldn’t be easy on her.
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br />   Sal had been so concerned when he had that dream that he’d spoken about it with Dave.

  With Beth sound asleep on her mattress, in the bed of the truck behind them, they talked about her.

  About the odds of them both being killed and of her surviving.

  They were careful. Overly careful, some would say.

  The decision to detour around Amarillo by adding a week to ten days to their journey was but one example of such caution.

  But no one could foresee the future, and no one could promise anyone else they’d survive another day.

  That was why Dave penned a letter to Beth.

  He sealed it in an envelope he found in a trucker’s cab and wrote upon the face of it:

  FOR BETH

  DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE LEFT ALIVE

  The smiley face Dave put below the words seemed out of place.

  But he hoped it would help temper the fear and uncertainty she’d be feeling should she ever have to open the letter and read it.

  He stashed the letter in the glove box, knowing full well if Beth was ever on her own she’d search the truck for whatever tools might aid her in the rest of the journey.

  His aim was for the letter to be one of the more valuable of those tools.

  Chapter 25

  There was a lot of tension in the air in the Dyke’s brothers’ bunker.

  It wasn’t from only one source, but rather several.

  Karen now understood the stress Lindsey was feeling from the knowledge her mother was cheating on her husband.

  And neither of them – Lindsey or Karen – understood Sarah’s reasons why.

  John Parker was a handsome man, and in another time and place would have been a good catch for any woman.

  But Karen and Lindsey could plainly see he was no match for Dave. Surely Sarah could see that as well.

  Robert Santos was stressed to the point of snapping at everyone for every little thing.

  His stress was borne in his plans to murder Manson.

  The act itself should have been easy, for Manson was lower than pond scum and doing him in was a favor to the world.

  But Santos had never taken a human life.