by Chris Pike
The Frank C. Irwin special events center came into view and people stopped what they were doing to watch the riders plod on. They curiously tracked the horse and riders until both were out of view.
Amanda glanced back over her shoulder. “Those people gave me the creeps.”
“Be on the lookout for anyone getting too close and don’t hesitate to use your Glock. If you need to shoot, remember—kill ‘em all, and let God sort ‘em out.”
They passed the landmarks of the Bob Bullock Museum, Blanton Museum of Art, and when they came to University Avenue, Chandler directed Cowboy to turn right.
“Why are we going into the campus?” Amanda asked.
“The Littlefield Fountain is a couple of blocks away. It will be a good place for us to stop.”
The once pristine fountain was choked with litter and covered with green moss. A few people congregated under a tree and looked with awe upon the horse. A woman dipped a jug into the fountain, collecting water. She hurried away at the sight of Amanda and Chandler.
“You think we’re okay here?” Amanda asked. She felt too much in the open, too vulnerable, and after the excitement the day before, the last thing she needed was more excitement.
“Yeah, we’re okay.”
Chandler helped her down from the horse, and once he dismounted, Cowboy and the mule went to the fountain and drank. Amanda let Nipper out of his carrier. He lifted his snout, tasting the air and taking in his surroundings. He padded to the fountain and drank alongside Cowboy.
Amanda sat down on the concrete side. “This had to be gorgeous at one time.”
“It was. If you look closely, you can see the inscription,” Chandler said. He took a bottle of water from a pack, popped the top, and drank thirstily. “Want some?” he said, offering it to Amanda.
“Thanks.” She finished the rest and handed the empty container to Chandler. “What does the inscription say? I don’t speak Latin.”
“It says ‘A short life hath been given by Nature unto man; but the remembrance of a life laid down in a good cause endureth forever.’”
“Interesting,” Amanda said. “What cause would you give up your life for so you’d be remembered?”
“I would give my life to keep our country safe.” Chandler stepped closer to Amanda and put his foot on the concrete lip, resting his elbow on his leg. “So you’d be safe.”
Amanda dropped her gaze. She was quiet for a second then met Chandler’s eyes. “Don’t die on me. Don’t leave me here alone.”
“Don’t plan to.”
Nipper finished lapping water at the fountain. He stepped back and took in his surroundings. He lifted his nose in the air, sniffing the different scents. Some he dismissed as not being important, such as the grackle foraging for food near an oak tree. It was the other scents which disturbed him. Scents of people who he didn’t recognize. The air was laced with scents of fear and desperation from a crowd of people he couldn’t see. His instincts told him the crowd was dangerous and getting closer. Nipper went to Amanda and nosed her hand, whining. She stroked him between the eyes.
“Your turn now,” Chandler said. “What would you give up your life for?”
“I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose if I was a mother, I’d protect—”
A mob of people carrying sticks and knives rushed Amanda and Chandler, yelling and waving their weapons.
Cowboy lifted his head from the fountain, his eyes wide. The mule sensed the danger too.
Nipper stood firm and emitted a growl coming from deep within his throat. His ruff bristled along the length of his back.
Chandler drew his Glock and whipped around to face a crowd marching toward him. “Amanda, get behind me!”
A man lobbed a brick and Chandler ducked just in time. The bricked splashed into the fountain.
The faces of desperate men and a few women were haggard, beards unshaven, clothes hanging off their emaciated frames. Chandler had his Glock pointing directly at a man holding a bat. The man made a mock charge.
Chandler yelled, “Stay back!”
“We need food. We’re starving,” the man with the bat said.
“We don’t have any extra food,” Chandler said. “We lost our supplies several days ago.”
“You’ve got to have something,” the man said, inching closer. “Give us that mule.” He nervously glanced at a man standing to the side of him.
“I don’t want to shoot you. Stay back.”
“We haven’t had anything to eat in days.” The man took another step forward.
“I’ll shoot,” Chandler said. He swiveled his Glock a fraction to the other man. “You too.”
Amanda whispered, “I’ve got him covered.” She had stepped out from behind Chandler.
“You may get some of us, but not all of us,” the man said.
“Maybe not, but you’ll be first,” Chandler said.
Another man slipped away unnoticed from the rest of the crowd and circled behind a building. Coming to the edge of it, he poked his head around the building. Amanda and Chandler had their backs facing him. Brandishing a large hunting knife above his head he rushed them.
Amanda turned, her eyes locked on his. She hesitated, gripped by a paralyzing indecision whether to shoot or not.
The man rushed forward.
Amanda screamed.
Before the man could get within striking distance, the report of a large caliber rifle sounded at the same time the man jerked backwards. The man was dead before he hit the ground, his head blown off.
Shell shocked, Amanda stood there with a strange expression on her face, her mind unable to comprehend what had happened to the man.
Chandler forced her down and they crouched near the cement fountain, taking cover.
The man with the bat bolted to Cowboy. The horse reared up and stamped his front legs.
Another loud crack of a rifle sounded and when the bullet struck the man, he was nearly cut in half.
Cowboy took off running, as did the mule.
A bullet knocked chucks of concrete and brick from a building. Another shot and bark went flying.
The crowd scattered in all directions, some running past Amanda and Chandler, others darting to buildings or behind trees.
“Come on,” Chandler said amidst the chaos, “we have to get outta here.” When Amanda didn’t move, he took her hand and jerked her up. They raced to the side of a building, with Nipper on their heels.
With another rifle crack a man tumbled to the ground, his chest obliterated by the force of the large caliber bullet.
Chandler and Amanda remained still for a few minutes, crouched against a wall of one of the campus buildings. Across the street several people huddled together.
“Amanda,” Chandler said urgently, “what happened back there? I told you to shoot if anyone rushed us.”
“I…I don’t know. I couldn’t. There’s been so much death.” Amanda dropped her chin, letting her gaze go to the ground. “I can’t stop thinking about those people at the Packsaddle Inn.” She couldn’t look Chandler in the eye since she knew she had failed him.
“Those people were evil, and there’s no telling how many they’ve killed. We did society a favor. You have to be tough now, and not go soft on me. It’s either them or us, and I prefer us.” Chandler got up and peeked around the building. A woman wailed in the distance amidst sporadic gunfire.
“What should we do?” Amanda asked.
“We need to leave,” Chandler replied.
“But they’re shooting at us.”
“No they’re not, otherwise we would’ve been dead by now.”
“Was that a sniper shooting at us?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t shooting at us. He was protecting us.”
“Protecting us? Why?”
“That,” Chandler said, “is the sixty-four thousand dollar question.”
Chapter 17
Zack cursed his lousy luck. He was sitting on the observation deck of the University of Tex
as Tower. He had his eye pressed to the scope of his Barrett M107 rifle, swiveling it in minute increments. He searched the circumference of the fountain, checking for any movement near a tree or the corner of a building. He scoped the area and looked for them. Not really them, rather, her.
“Where are you?” he whispered.
Zack was so focused he didn’t feel the cold wind whipping the Tower, or notice his fingers had gone numb. He didn’t hear the walkie-talkie crackling.
He sighted Chandler and the LaRue rifle he carried, a firearm of the finest quality, one which Zack wanted to make part of his collection.
Right as he was about to take out Chandler, a homeless guy holding a knife darted out into the open. Amanda had turned around and stood there dumbstruck. Hadn’t she learned anything since she had been gone? While she had been in the crosshairs, he had to admit, even thick winter clothes couldn’t conceal the memories he had of her.
She still had long, wavy brunette hair he remembered running his fingers through. Fiery eyes that challenged him like no other girlfriend had. Soft skin he remembered touching.
Now someone else was touching her and that made Zack’s blood boil.
He couldn’t let anything happen to Amanda, which was the reason he had to take out the guy rushing her. Then another one got the bright idea and he had to be taken out too. By then, the group scattered like the cowards they were, even the horse and mule. Zack’s shot had been blown and Amanda and Chandler were nowhere in sight.
Now that the damn horse had run off, the bar-b-que Zack had been planning would have to wait. And there was no way he would eat mule meat. He’d have to be starving before he resorted to that.
The door creaked open and Zack spun around.
“What’s going on?” Kurt asked. “I heard shooting.” He leaned over and put his hands on his thighs. He was out of breath, having climbed twenty-nine flights of stairs. “Generator isn’t working. I got up here as fast as I could. I thought you might need help.”
“The fun is over.”
“Huh?”
“They’re gone, Amanda got away.”
“How?”
“Let’s just say that homeless group that has been hanging around digging through trash needs to go. I was just about to take the shot on that guy riding with Amanda when a homeless guy charged her. I’ve tolerated them long enough. Enough talk about what happened. I need you to do something.”
“Anything. You name it, I’ll do it,” Kurt said.
“I want you to follow Amanda and see where she’s going.”
“Sure. Give me your car keys.”
“No can do,” Zack said. “That car has a bullseye on it. Get your bicycle and follow them.”
“You want me to shoot the guy with her?”
“No. I want you to follow them and tell me where she goes. And don’t get caught. Hang back far enough to where they won’t notice you. It’s not like they’re in a car and can speed away.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Make sure the homeless people don’t cause any more trouble.”
Chapter 18
Amanda and Chandler had made their way back to MLK Boulevard by hugging the perimeters of buildings and using trees as cover. Nipper mirrored their movements and was so close to Amanda’s heels he nearly tripped her several times. The wary dog was jumpy and flinched at any sound out of the ordinary.
The last time they saw Cowboy, he had bolted to the cross street they had taken to get to the fountain.
“We need to find Cowboy,” Chandler said. He scanned in all directions, looking for the horse. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a long walk to my parents’ house.”
“Where do they live?” Amanda asked.
“About fifteen miles from here. They’re in a subdivision west of 2222 and 620. Can you make it that far?”
“After what we’ve been through, I can make it anywhere.”
“Stay close, and with any luck, we’ll be there later today. How’s your ammo holding up?”
“Good enough, as long as we don’t get in another shootout. I think I’ve burned up some of my nine lives.”
“Let’s get going. Time’s a’wasting.”
“Hey, wait a moment,” Amanda said. “Aren’t we going in the wrong direction?”
“No. We need to stay away from the Tower. I think that’s where the shooting was coming from.”
“1966 all over again. I read online about the fifty year anniversary of the shooting.”
“History repeats itself,” Chandler said. “I think the university has improved security for the Tower since Charles Whitman sniped a bunch of people. But with this EMP, all bets are off. Maybe somebody has taken over the Tower and part of the university. That would explain why the homeless people were killed and not us. It’s a great lookout point with a 360 degree view of the city. The Tower is nearly impenetrable.”
For a few minutes they walked in silence along MLK. The morning sun awakened the land and the people near the university. Vagrants sat with their backs against buildings and looked at Amanda and Chandler with growing suspicion. Others were huddled over a burn barrel, warming their hands. When they came to another side street a block away, Chandler stopped.
“Take Nipper and hide.”
Cowboy and the mule had been cornered in a patio area of a building by two men. The big horse had his back to a wall, dwarfing the mule. One of the men held the reins while his companion struggled to mount the horse. He had one foot in a stirrup, both hands on the saddle horn. Cowboy stamped his hooves and tossed his head, trying to throw the man.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” Chandler said. “The horse is mine.”
“Oh, yeah? Prove it,” the man said.
Pointing a Glock at the man, Chandler said, “This is all the proof I need, so back off!”
They men exchanged wary looks.
“We didn’t mean any harm. Saw us a horse without a rider, thought we’d help it, that’s all.” The man sidestepped away from Cowboy. He pivoted quickly and brought up a 38 special.
Chandler dropped him with one well-placed round. He swiveled his Glock to the other guy. “You’re next, so unless you want a bullet to the head, you’d better get outta here.”
The man didn’t need to be told twice. Keeping his eyes on Chandler, he hugged the side of the building, and when he came to the corner, he sprinted away, disappearing.
Chandler strolled over to Cowboy and took the reins. The dead man had fallen face up. Chandler nudged him with a boot to make sure he was dead. There was no movement. Satisfied the man was not a danger, Chandler patted Cowboy. “You okay, big boy?” His hands roamed over Cowboy, checking for any injuries. Finding none, he opened the saddlebags, inspecting the contents. They had been lucky. Nothing had been taken. The mule looked to be okay as well, and Chandler tied the rope to Cowboy.
Amanda walked up to the scene holding Nipper by a leash. The dog tugged toward the dead man. Amanda held him back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, but he’s not,” Chandler said pointing to the dead man.
Amanda looked at the man. “Do you want me to go through his pockets?”
“No. Let’s leave. I don’t want to run into any more trouble. Like you, I think I’ve used another one of my nine lives.”
* * *
Hours later, the weary travelers came to Austin’s Loop 360 Bridge, a through-arch bridge connecting the northern and southern sections of the loop on the west side of Austin. The loop, known as the Capital of Texas Highway, snaked along the limestone hills dotted with cedars and affluent homes. The 1,150 foot long 600 short ton bridge had a 600 foot arch with a weathered rust finish, making it an aesthetically pleasing centerpiece of the loop.
A man in a canoe on the lake cast out a fishing line and kept an eye on the brightly colored fishing bob. He ignored the incoming travelers.
“Be on the lookout,” Chandler warned Amanda. “Look for any movement where none should be, especially in the h
ills or on top of the bridge. This is a perfect spot for an ambush.”
“Can’t we go another way?”
“We could, but we won’t. It would take us days to travel around the lake, and since our food and water are running low, it’s not an option. We have to push through. It’s the most direct route to my home. I’ll keep my eyes on the men patrolling the bridge. Get your gun ready, but keep it hidden. And let me do the talking.”
Vintage Ford trucks blocked the entrance to the bridge. Several men dressed in Western attire, complete with slickers and hats, tracked Amanda and Chandler as they came closer. Two were young men, the other twice their age.
Chandler eyed the men, sizing them up, noting their hands and faces had not been weathered from the sun. They looked as if they could have been bankers or part of the dot.com crowd before the grid went down. Currently they looked like they might be extras for a film crew recreating the shootout at Tombstone. Or perhaps they were members of SASS, the Single Action Shooters Society—Sassy, as Chandler liked to call the members.
One of the younger men peered over the rim of his aviator sunglasses, eyeing Chandler and Amanda.
Chandler immediately recognized the firearms. Aviator guy had a Colt single action army revolver, while his sidekick had a more modern Ruger Vaquero known for its study construction and transfer bar safety. It had a 5.5 inch barrel in polished stainless steel. The older of the men held a Model 1873 lever action rifle.
A collector of Western firearms would appreciate their choices.
Chandler figured the older man must be the leader when he spotted Amanda and Chandler first. He handed his binoculars to Aviator guy.
The older guy was on his game. So was Chandler.
“That’s far enough,” the older man said.
“We don’t want trouble,” Chandler replied. “I’m only looking to cross.”
“You live around here?”
“Yes.”
“Got proof?”
“No. I don’t have any identification.”
“We can’t let you in then.”
“We’ve come a long way,” Chandler said. “Been shot at, we’re cold, tired, and hungry. My parents live about five miles from here, and all we want to do is get home.”
