Next World Series (Vol. 2): Families First [The Road]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  “Sure, buddy, no worries. We’re keeping busy up here and will keep an eye out for you all over the next week or so.”

  “Thanks, David,” I replied. “By the way, we have some information about a FEMA camp set up in Raton.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that,” David said. “Is the information credible?”

  “I think so. It came from a military platoon at another camp in Texas,” I told him.

  “All right. Then I’m glad we’re up here on the pass,” David said.

  “How are you holding up over there?” I asked.

  “Not bad here, besides being mostly isolated from the outside world—except of course for our radio. We reunited with old friends and made some new ones. We’ve staked out our territory and have a good group working together up here. I’m sure you’ve heard about our little group, The Raton Pass Militia, by now.”

  “It’s all we hear about out on the road,” I said, playing along. “People won’t shut up about you guys!”

  It was a crisp morning as we headed out, with full stomachs.

  I could have stayed at the lake for a few more days, but knew we had to keep moving.

  We headed northwest on Highway 25, towards Interstate 287, clearing the city of Wichita Falls by 20 miles. We had nearly 220 miles to get to Amarillo. After an hour’s travel, Lonnie called a quick meeting for the adults and a potty break for the kids.

  “We have a couple of hundred miles to get to the outskirts of Amarillo. There are small towns up and down the highway on the way. We can count on most of them being less than friendly towards a caravan of people with trailers full of weapons and ammo,” relayed Lonnie to the adults. “We’ll keep steady at 20 miles per hour if possible, and that should put us closer to Amarillo by tonight, God willing.”

  It was just after 10 a.m., according to Jakes’ watch, and the temperature was climbing. The lake water we had filtered the day before would become crucial during this long desolate stretch of road.

  The children were now picking favorite buddies and vehicles to ride in, breaking up the monotony just a bit.

  Feeling the hot wind in my hair, I looked for Hendrix to give him the monocular look but only saw Hudson and Jax in the next vehicle. He must have found a buddy in another car, I thought. Maybe Veronica or Suzie, I imagined. I was happy he was making more friends now.

  Vlad’s leg needed a proper cast, and according to the map there was a hospital 20 miles up the road, right off the highway. I pointed it out to Jake and Vlad, as we radioed Lonnie to be on the lookout.

  The miles passed without seeing many people. Just an occasional couple or family walking down the road, but they didn’t have any interest in our group.

  Just over an hour later, I pointed towards a hospital that looked brand new. It was a four-story building with glass on all sides. A few people could be seen milling around.

  “I’m sure the pharmacy is completely cleaned out,” I shouted to Jake.

  “You know it is,” he replied, smiling, “even in a small town like this.”

  Lonnie called to circle the vehicles 200 yards out, so we could make a plan.

  “I’m going in,” said Nancy, “since I know what we need.”

  “Not without firepower,” directed Lonnie. “Mike, you go first, and provide cover.”

  “I’ll go,” shouted Jake.

  “Listen,” said Lonnie. “You’ve got a boy to think about and I can’t have both of you in there, just in case.”

  “Hendrix!” called Joy in a panicked voice. “Has anyone seen Hendrix?!” she yelled, running down the caravan.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Four ~ Vernon, Texas

  I jumped off the trailer, bouncing from vehicle to vehicle. “Please, Lord,” I said aloud. “Let him be here.”

  I met Joy at the last trailer, with no sign of our sweet boy.

  Joy collapsed in tears, and I felt a surge like a lightning bolt pierce my stomach. I panicked, running back the way we came, shouting his name.

  Had he fallen off along the way, or did we leave him at the last stop?

  I ran, screaming his name, for more than half a mile when I realized Lonnie’s truck was behind me.

  “Get in,” said a familiar voice, as the passenger door was thrown open.

  I jumped in, expecting to see Lonnie or Jake.

  “Mike?!” I said, more as a question than anything else. “I…well, I was expecting someone else” is all I could think to say.

  “We’ll find your boy,” he told me in a straight face, with no emotion.

  I clicked on the seatbelt for the first time this trip, as Mike laid on the gas.

  “Just make sure he’s not in the road, having fallen out,” I said.

  Two miles passed, without a word from either of us, before he spoke.

  “So, what do you think?” asked Mike, not looking over from his driving position.

  “About Hendrix?” I asked.

  “No. About me?”

  I hesitated, not wanting to take my focus off my boy, but realizing that this may be a significant moment in the future of our group.

  I looked at the speedometer and realized he was going 60 miles per hour towards our last stop.

  “We should be there in about 20 to 30 minutes,” I told him.

  With nothing else to do, for now, I thought I would get this out of the way.

  “Well,” I told him, “I’m not sure how to read you. You kind of remind me of the fixer from the movie Pulp Fiction.” Mike laughed at that, not taking his eyes from the road.

  “Take an asshole like Dan,” I said, “and he gets what he gets. But a guy like Dane, back at the gun shop—I don’t get that. I mean, he was unarmed and walking away when you shot him. And here you are, helping me find my boy.

  “I thought Lonnie wanted you to go into the hospital with Nancy,” I added.

  “He did, but this is more important, and someone may have Hendrix right now. If so, you’re going to need my help.

  “Did Lonnie ever tell you why I left the department in Brooklyn to move to Texas?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I didn’t even know that.”

  “My partner and I had a case we were working, involving the Catholic Church. They’re real serious about the Church in Brooklyn, let me tell you.

  “Anyway, we were the first in on a raid of one of the preacher’s offices, where the janitor had two young boys locked up. Father Corraso called me first, before anyone else. He was a good man and stepped in a few times when I got in trouble as a kid. My partner and I kicked in the door of the locked room to find the janitor doing unspeakable things to two young boys about Hendrix’s age.

  “Well, without hesitation or a second thought, we both opened fire on him. When the smoke cleared, he had nine bullet wounds and died right there in the church, before God and everyone.”

  “What about the boys?” I asked.

  “They were okay. At least they didn’t get shot, I mean. They were messed up, man, after that, though.”

  I was shocked, as tears rolled down Mike’s face.

  “The trial was brutal for those boys and their families,” he continued. “Somehow that monster’s family got hooked up with a top-notch group of attorneys who were trying to say that the boys somehow wanted that to happen, and suggested it was just a big misunderstanding. They came at us hard and it was all over the news. They were calling it a murder trial from the very beginning.

  “My partner and I were somehow found not guilty by a jury filled with mothers and fathers.

  “The Church filed a civil suit against us both, which was still pending before the lights went out. Father Corraso put in a good word for me, but it was out of his hands.

  “For a long time, I wondered how God could let that happen to those boys. Then I wondered if my partner and I were meant to be there to stop it.

  “I moved to McKinney to start over and met Lonnie at a neighborhood barbecue, of all places. He got me a job on the force, even with my pa
st record, and I’ll never forget that.

  “As for the Dane guy, it probably shouldn’t have happened. I felt a little bad about it. My mind went numb, having the kid, Sam, in danger on that trailer next to us.

  “God help them if someone has your boy, though.

  “All that stays between us,” Mike said as a statement.

  “Agreed,” I told him.

  “How are you doing without Kelly?” I asked, immediately regretting it.

  “Sad, I guess,” he replied. “She was with me through the whole thing and never wavered, not even once. I should have married her when I had a chance.”

  I was on a roll now and wanted to get everything out.

  “What about Jake?” Mike said, before I could ask.

  “Yeah, I was wondering about that,” I replied.

  “Don’t worry. We’re just posturing up, like rulers of two countries might do when they don’t agree. We both have a hell of an ego, and I’m not sure who would come out on top if we got into it.

  “We’re both committed to the group and have respect for both you and Lonnie, so don’t worry about it. Hell, he and I may even have a beer together before it’s all said and done.”

  I was suddenly feeling much better about Mike. He is still a loose cannon, I thought, but I understood his behavior much better now.

  “About ten minutes to where we stopped last,” said Mike, navigating the occasional stalled car with ease, even at his now 70-mile-an-hour speed.

  I may have asked him to slow, but I knew every second could count with Hendrix.

  Those next ten minutes felt like an eternity. My mind raced with all the horrible possibilities of what we might find. Was my boy alive or hurt? Did he survive the heat without water? Was he even there? Was he kidnapped or worse?

  “That’s it!” I yelled, pointing down the road a quarter mile. “That’s the spot where we stopped.”

  Mike hit the brakes hard as we approached, squeaking the tires.

  “Oh no,” I groaned, not seeing any sign of my boy.

  “Let’s check the perimeter,” suggested Mike, “all way around.”

  I went left and he right.

  “I’ve got something over here,” yelled Mike. I ran over to see him pointing down at little tennis shoe prints, leading west, away from the perimeter.

  “It’s him!” I said, both excited and terrified. “I recognize the under-armor pattern on the sole.”

  I felt a lump welling up in my throat, as I pointed to the two sets of adult shoe prints, one on each side of my boy’s.

  “Let’s go!” I shouted, still not thinking clearly.

  Mike grabbed my shoulder and in a sober voice said, “Listen, Lance. I know you’re panicked and your mind is going 100 miles per hour. You need to let me help you.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, now breathing like I had just run a 10k race.

  “Let’s take a look,” Mike said, handing me a pair of binoculars, while looking through his own.

  I scanned the horizon with no one in sight, the ground cracked and fissured as far as I could see under the heat of the desolate land.

  “Where are they?!” I said aloud.

  “Look at the terrain,” Mike pointed out. “There are a lot of valleys we can’t see into from here. We need to take five minutes to prep for tracking,” he added.

  “All right,” I agreed. “What’s first?”

  “Pop the truck hood and pull the distributor wire,” he asked. “I don’t want anyone stealing our ride back.”

  Mike grabbed a pre-loaded backpack from the back of the truck. “We only have one of these,” he said, “so we’ll take turns carrying. We’ve got enough food and water for a few days, worst case. Last, and certainly not least, the AR-15s,” he said with a slight grin.

  “All right, buddy,” he said. “Let’s find your boy.”

  We set out quickly, following the three sets of tracks in the dusty plains.

  I said a prayer, followed by another and another, for his safe return.

  I also asked one for Mike, that he might be healed of his past traumas and forgiven for his past indiscretions.

  It was about noon, and the temperature was rising. Dust swirled with the occasional gust of wind. My lips chapped as sweat poured from my adrenaline-filled body.

  I hope they have water, I thought. And who took my son?

  Fifteen minutes had gone by when we hit the edge of the first valley. We approached cautiously on our hands and knees, peering down into the narrow opening, with no sign of them.

  “Let’s be diligent about following the tracks that are now harder to make out,” I told Mike. “I don’t want us to end up off course and lose them out here.”

  “They’ve got a head start, but your boy will have to be carried at some points along the way. See here,” he added, pointing to only two sets of adult tracks.

  “This one is sunk down deeper than before,” so he must be carrying Hendrix.

  “I see that,” I said, relieved when I saw his little shoe prints 30 yards down the trail.

  “Right now, we have the element of surprise, so no calling out his name. Understood?” asked Mike.

  “I got it,” I replied, knowing he was right. It took everything I had in me not to scream out his name.

  I started having flashbacks, like when you do something stupid and you could die. I had experienced them five times in my life, three of which were near-drownings; and ironically, I was a good swimmer.

  Now they were all about Hendrix growing up, like a mental slideshow with pictures I would swear I’d never seen before.

  Lance, he was just perfect. My little bo…

  “Lance,” said Mike, shaking my shoulder.

  “What?” I asked, realizing I had zoned out.

  “We need to be focused a hundred percent,” he told me.

  “Sorry, man… I’m just…I don’t know…”

  “Let’s stay calm and talk strategy,” suggested Mike.

  “One of the adult prints is smaller than the other.

  “Scenario 1: a couple of guys have Hendrix and have firepower.

  “Scenario 2: a man and woman have him and maybe tried to rescue him.

  “Scenario 3: an adult and a teenager or other older kid are walking with him.

  “They had a couple of hours head start at the very most, so we’re close, and we need to have our plan together when we spot them.”

  “Agreed,” I said, looking at the crest of another valley 200 yards ahead.

  We approached the same as last time, on our hands and knees.

  Peering over the edge revealed a lush green valley, at least ten miles wide, with a river running through the bottom.

  “They’ve got water, thank God,” I said aloud.

  “Let’s take our time,” whispered Mike. “They’re down there. We just have to spot them.

  “I’ll start right to left, and you go left to right,” he said, as we scanned the valley with our binoculars.

  “That’s them!” I said, as I spotted three people just across the river in the trees. “There,” I pointed to Mike.

  “They don’t see us, but they will if we head down now,” he replied.

  To see my boy alive and moving around was more than I could have asked for.

  “When they start moving again, we’ll head down. Once we’re in the valley, we will have the advantage again,” Mike pointed out.

  What seemed like an eternity later, or ten minutes in this next world, they were on the move.

  “This is it,” Mike called out in a low voice. “Let’s move.”

  “Want me to carry the pack?” I asked.

  “Nah. You’ll have a 40-pound boy with tired legs to carry soon enough.”

  Not running full out was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. To be so close and not grab the prize was excruciating.

  “Lance, if they hurt him in any way, don’t be surprised if I...”

  “Mike, if that happened, you’ll be trying to hold me bac
k, I can assure you.”

  Nearly skiing on loose dirt and rocks down the steep valley wall, we made great time.

  “I bet that just saved us an hour,” I told him as we approached the river.