Texas Strong: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  Lucy turned off the radio and set it on the cocktail table. She gestured for Major to sit on the seat, and she helped him remove his boots. “Major, are you sure this is necessary? It’s gonna use up a lot of diesel, put our men at risk, plus expose some of our valuable assets like the cattle and the trailer.”

  “We talked about that on the way back,” he replied. “The only way to avoid this is to see Marion again and get a waiver. I’m sure I’ll have to stand in line behind a dozen other ranchers. We’ll provide Antonio several different routes between here and there so nobody can establish a pattern of activity. Also, he’ll be under strict orders to abandon the cattle and get themselves back to the ranch in the event of trouble. We’ve got more cattle, but good men and the trailer are in short supply.”

  “What about the diesel?” she asked.

  “We’re gonna have to go in the other direction for that,” replied Major. “When we were in Odessa, I spoke with one of the deputies, who told me Arnold Oil Company in Midland was supplying a lot of the ranchers who were their regulars.”

  “Not us,” interrupted Lucy. “Remember how they screwed Pops over years ago?”

  Major grimaced and nodded. “Yes, of course I do, and my reaction was the same when the deputy mentioned their name.”

  Arnold Oil Company was founded in Corpus Christi after the end of the Depression. Over time, they expanded throughout Texas and continued with the Arnold family operating their locations for many years. During the boom of the oil industry in the eighties, the grandchildren of founder Gene Arnold began to sell off their locations to larger corporate interests.

  Major’s father, Pops, enjoyed handshake deals with Jim Arnold for decades but lost the benefit of the company’s promises after the sell-off. An annual prepayment of twenty-one thousand dollars for diesel at a greatly discounted rate per gallon was not honored by the new company because there was nothing in writing.

  In the meantime, Jim Arnold had suffered a stroke and was unable to confirm the arrangement to anyone. The failure to memorialize the transaction in writing was partly Pops’s fault, but it stuck in the craw of the Armstrong family for years. The falling-out had been somewhat bitter and was remembered by Major. He wasn’t sure if the new proprietors were aware of it, or cared at this point.

  “Well, Miss Lucy, I may have to go down there with hat in hand. More and more businesses are shutting their doors due to lack of customers and an unstable currency. Marion is having a heckuva time getting her gold-backed dollar off the ground, which has resulted in a barter system. Our deal with the slaughterhouse is a great example.”

  Lucy patted him on the legs after he propped them on the table. “Make the deal and get our tanks filled. Let’s get our freezers stocked with meat too. But, Major, we’ve got to stop venturing out of the confines of the ranch. It’s becoming too dangerous out there.”

  “I know,” mumbled Major as he leaned his head against the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes for a moment as Lucy continued.

  “I’m not just referring to places like Lubbock. From what I’m hearing on the news and the shortwave, the fences are gonna give soon. We’re gonna be crawlin’ with hungry, desperate folks who have nothin’ to lose.”

  Chapter 31

  January 5

  Interstate 20

  Wickett, Texas

  “Go big or go home, boys,” said Holloway to his men as they crammed inside a roadside truck stop in the small town of Wickett, between Odessa and El Paso. Two days prior, he’d observed a convoy of food trucks, which had crossed their path, headed east on Interstate 20 toward Odessa. They were fueling their four vehicles at a small convenience store when he noticed them roar by, escorted by a military Humvee at the front and rear. He asked the clerk, who was being held at gunpoint to prevent him from notifying anyone about Holloway’s men, if he knew where they might be headed.

  The man was frightened but volunteered what he knew. He told his captors about the mall in Odessa being used as a large refugee center. The food supplies were most likely being sent there or up to Lubbock, where the city was in dire straits.

  Holloway waited until the vehicles were topped off, considered this new information, and decided to take a chance. People were creatures of habit, and the government was guilty of being regimental as well. The trucks would be back, and the next time, he’d be ready for them.

  The first step they took was to create a three-car crash on the interstate near the off-ramp to the town of Wickett. This would force any vehicles off the highway temporarily so they could bypass the wreckage. Some cars might even choose to purchase fuel while they pulled off, making them easy targets for Holloway’s men.

  The two days spent at the Main Street Market and Truck Stop proved most advantageous. They secured another seven vehicles, which they promptly loaded with fuel. They confiscated all the supplies of any travelers before piling their dead bodies in a dumpster behind the truck stop.

  Wickett had no law enforcement protection, so Holloway was not concerned with being discovered. The routine was a simple one. If a vehicle entered the Main Street Market, it never left the parking lot.

  When his lookouts roared down the exit ramp, he knew it was game on. He pulled all his men in from their sentry posts and positioned them around the bottom of the exit ramp. One of his truck drivers fired up a tractor-trailer rig and got into position. When given the signal, he would proceed southbound on the two-lane road traveling under the interstate. At just the right moment, he’d spring the assault on the convoy.

  Some of his men had practiced this routine in Winslow, Arizona, before they were derailed by a sniper who came out of nowhere. This time, Holloway kept his men positioned around the off-ramp, instructing them to monitor the highway and the high ground. The stakes were too high this time for some do-gooder to get in his way.

  Holloway positioned himself down an embankment with half a dozen men. They used short bushy trees as cover. If the convoy was similar to the one two days ago, he would have an opportunity to score a Humvee. If it had a Ma Deuce mounted on top, he might just wet himself with excitement.

  The sound of the diesel truck utilizing its Jake brake to slow down brought him out of his daydream. He inched his way under the tree, silently cursing the rocks that jabbed into his kneecaps. The lead Humvee, a soft top, stopped short of the wreckage.

  “He’s probably assessing the situation,” Holloway mumbled to himself. “There’s no way around it, pal, so come on down. Trust me, the price is right.”

  The driver inched forward, and the passenger waved his arm out the window and pointed down the ramp.

  Here we go.

  Holloway was only slightly disappointed when he saw the single Sysco truck sandwiched between the two escort vehicles. He had an army of twenty men to feed, and two truckloads of provisions would last them a month or more. This was an opportunity that wouldn’t likely come again, but he wasn’t going to complain. Especially when he saw the second Humvee roll right in front of him, barely fifty feet away from where he and his men lay on their bellies.

  He held his breath and waited. The signal would come at any moment, and his men would pounce out of their positions and take the convoy down before they knew what hit them.

  The convoy was barely rolling down the ramp when the sound of metal crashing into metal could be heard. There were no tires screeching as brakes were being applied. The driver of the lead Humvee was unable to honk his horn to warn away the oncoming Peterbilt.

  For a split second, Holloway mused about the joke that he’d heard as a child, which asked what is the last thing a bug sees when it hits the windshield? He tried to imagine what the Humvee driver was thinking when the Peterbilt T-boned his truck.

  His musings caused him to miss the action. With catlike speed, his team raced toward the eighteen-wheeler and the rear Humvee. A soldier had climbed into the turret and had his head shot off, literally. His arms were draped over the roof of the truck, and his head was obliterated.
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  The rest of the personnel assigned to the convoy didn’t fare much better. They were quickly eliminated. The only injury to Holloway’s team was the man assigned to drive the Peterbilt rig into the lead Humvee who was injured when his head crashed into the steering wheel, knocking out two teeth.

  Grinning from ear to ear, Holloway approached his new ride. He opened the rear passenger door and dragged the headless soldier’s body out of the Humvee and onto the asphalt. He quickly crawled up through the turret and grabbed the handles of the powerful machine gun. Visions of his days in Afghanistan filled his mind as a wave of excitement overcame him. Fortunately, the wetting himself part did not.

  He ordered his men to quickly clear the wreckage and strip the soldiers of their weapons and uniforms, regardless of how bloody they were. Everything could be useful at some point. He walked down the exit ramp and circled his hand in the air, telling everyone to get their vehicles and prepare to pull out.

  Holloway had a route picked out that would lead them north toward Lubbock. He’d chuckled as he’d looked at the podunk towns on the Texas map like Patricia, Lenora, and Gail. What was with these people? he mused. Did they name their towns after their wives?

  Chapter 32

  January 6

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  Duncan and Cooper ambled along the Colorado River as they took their afternoon shift on perimeter patrol. The guys made small talk, mainly about Duncan’s military experiences in the different theaters of war he’d been assigned to. He and Cooper agreed there would be a time that the battle would come to the ranch. The guys appreciated all of the efforts put into security by Preacher and Major, but at some point, they knew they would be tested by a real force, not just the wandering refugees and hungry Texans who happened to stumble upon Armstrong Ranch.

  “Here’s the first thing you notice about a gun battle,” began Duncan. “They’re totally chaotic. Training helps overcome that, but mostly a firefight is unpredictable and unorganized. You improvise a lot. It’s not choreographed and planned like you see in the movies.”

  “In the movies, the scenes move very fast, it seems,” added Cooper.

  “That’s because they’re scripted,” said Duncan with a laugh. “Live combat isn’t like that usually. Whether I was working with my guys in a unit, or it was just me and Park in the middle of an operation, we would take our time to maneuver and even experience a lull of five or ten minutes to slowly position ourselves to gain ground on the enemy. You just don’t charge against an objective at top speed. On the battlefield, with your full kit on, even the adrenaline coursing through your veins can’t prevent you from getting winded.”

  “The bullets, however, move lightning fast, don’t they?” asked Cooper.

  “Yeah, that’s for sure. When you hear the gunfire, the wall in front of you could be getting riddled with rounds meant for your body.”

  They rode through the trees and stopped to observe the beavers dealing with the frozen river. The dam started by Major and the ranch hands had held up well thus far. The beavers had supplemented the initial construction and created a perfect dam. The frozen, still water created an ice skating rink except where the beavers were normally active. They didn’t hibernate in the winter, but spent most of their time inside a beaver lodge constructed of twigs and mud on the bank of the river, which extended into the water. This enabled them to have an opening through which they could access their food cache at the bottom of the river. Like most wild animals, beavers were preppers too.

  Duncan continued. “Here’s another thing, these things usually happen at the end of a long day. It never fails that your unit might be at the end of the patrol, hot, sweaty, tired, and suffering from a loss of concentration. You’re trying to watch your buddy’s six, the L-T is trying to communicate and coordinate movements, and then boom, an IED goes off, or a mortar round hits nearby, or automatic weapons unleash a barrage on top of you.”

  “Wow,” said Cooper.

  “Yeah, wow. I mean, you go into sensory overload and your body starts pumpin’ adrenaline like it’s nobody’s business. All of this is hittin’ you at the same time, yet you gotta focus on your job or you’ll die.”

  Cooper moved ahead slightly to pull a branch up to allow Duncan to duck and cross under. “What’s goin’ through your head during all of this?”

  “Coop, it’s like havin’ a bunch of little birds chirpin’ in your ear at the same time. Where’s the enemy? What weapons do they have? Does my unit know where I am? Am I in cover? Is it good enough cover to keep my tail from gettin’ shot off? What’s my ammo count?”

  “Holy crap!” exclaimed Cooper.

  “Oh, that’s just part of it,” Duncan continued. “Once you get oriented, in the back of your head you wonder if any of your guys have been hit. Is my unit moving without me? Did someone just yell my name? Don’t forget to breathe. You know, it’s hectic as hell, to say the least.”

  “Sounds surreal, totally different than what you see on TV or in the movies.”

  Duncan laughed, although the conversation wasn’t intended to be funny. “That’s why I can’t watch the Hollywood version of war. They glorify it to the point of absurdity. There is nothing you could watch that would ever give you the feeling you get when you’re trying to kill another human being who is working his tail off to kill you. Nothing can prepare you for a gunfight except training with the people you plan to fight with, and die with, if necessary.”

  The guys entered a clearing as they headed west along the water when they both noticed a vehicle coming in their direction at a high rate of speed. Duncan quickly dismounted and pulled his rifle out of its scabbard. Cooper followed his lead, and the two readied their weapons. Although the truck was from the ranch, they were always on edge, prepared for all contingencies.

  As it got closer, they lowered their rifles as they saw Antonio waving his arm out the window. Everyone who drove vehicles on the ranch had been told not to use the horn to avoid drawing attention to the property. Duncan called it sound discipline.

  “Mr. Duncan, you’re needed back at the ranch house right away,” said Antonio as he slid to a stop. “You take the truck.”

  “Antonio, did something happen? Is everything okay?” asked Duncan.

  “Yes, sir, I think. The Army is here to see you. Two men in uniforms with stripes.”

  Duncan looked to Cooper and shrugged. Antonio took his place on patrol, and Duncan headed back to the house, except at a much calmer rate of speed.

  Chapter 33

  January 6

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  The first thing Duncan noticed when he arrived was that the vehicle was a black Chrysler 300 with blue-and-white U.S. government tags. This was an indication these visitors were officers, possibly high-ranking, from Fort Hood. The U.S. tags didn’t surprise him. He doubted the Texas prison population was cranking out license plates at this point. He walked slowly past the vehicle and glanced into the front seat. Stuck between the passenger seat and the armrest was a thick file folder with his name, social security number, and old military unit typed on it. He immediately wondered if these men knew of his post-military activities. Either way, he was gonna play it close to the vest because he smelled a rat.

  Duncan casually walked inside and took off his jacket and hat. He hung them on the wall next to his father’s. However, he kept his leg holster and sidearm on. One never knows.

  As he entered, he could hear chairs scooting on the well-worn wooden floors in the kitchen. He was about to meet his unexpected visitors.

  It took him a split second to realize he was going to be greeted by a full-bird colonel. His eyes darted around to make sure there were no military police waiting in the wings. Something must be up, and he was immediately on the defensive.

  “Commander Armstrong, I am Colonel Sanderson with the Texas Quick Reaction Force headquartered at Fort Hood. I’d like you to meet Captain Jon
Harris, whose unit is made up of elite military personnel like yourself.”

  Duncan snapped a salute and they returned it. He still hadn’t spoken.

  “We apologize for this appearance without notice, but we had no other way of reaching you. Captain Harris has remedied that situation by providing your parents a satphone and charger. Your family will now have communications access to me or Austin, as necessary.”

  Why would that be necessary?

  “Thank you, sir,” said Duncan. “How can I help you?”

  “May we sit,” said the colonel as he glanced toward the sofa and back toward Lucy, who stood near the kitchen door with Major.

  “Sure, anywhere you’d like,” said Duncan. The group headed to the family room and suggested the two visitors take the sofa. After some small talk, Duncan brought the conversation back to his original question.

  “Colonel, I’m sure you didn’t come here to make small talk, with all due respect, sir. How can I help you?”

  The colonel laughed. “Your file indicated you were a straight shooter, in more ways than one,” he began as he provided Duncan a wink, which set off alarm bells throughout his body. They knew about his special ops. “The TX-QRF is the Texas military’s version of a SWAT team. We serve at the pleasure of President Burnett and are available on a moment’s notice to address security concerns that might threaten our national security.”

  “I am familiar with the TX-QRF through news reports of the incident at Midwestern State in Wichita Falls,” interjected Duncan. “I heard it was a nice, clean operation.”

  “Yes, it was a success without loss of innocent lives,” said the captain. “Commander Duncan, you have been referred to us by the highest levels of our new government as what can best be described as an incredible asset. We need men like you to protect Texas and everything required to make our new nation function without outside interference. Would you be willing to discuss this with us?”