The Surge - 03

by Joe Nobody

  There were too many people swirling around, both in front and behind the target. Zach stepped left, and then right, trying to find a clear field of fire. He screamed, “Police!” but there was no way his voice could be heard over the roar of the crowd. The ranger watched helplessly as the goon heaved the deadly gasoline bomb toward the police barricade.

  A moment later, a second missile was launched from the throng, the ranger almost certain it had come from Chico’s other playmate.

  The first projectile landed in the street less than 10 feet in front of a line of officers standing behind an impressive bastion of riot shields.

  With a loud whoosh, the gasoline ignited, followed by several terrified screams and countless excited shouts. Two of the horses added their protests to the disruption, rearing wild-eyed on their hind legs and nearly tossing their riders.

  The cops closest to the pool of searing-hot fire backed away.

  While Zach watched helplessly, the two cartel henchmen tossed more items at the police line as the crowd scrambled in all directions at once.

  “They’re trying to instigate a riot,” Zach hissed, pushing his way through the swirling mass in order to reach the closest man. The effort was hopeless, hundreds of surging, screaming, panicked bodies blocking his way.

  Before the ranger could even manage 20 feet, the police responded with a barrage of tear gas. In less than half a minute, 15th Street became a living hell.

  Just as the hissing canisters of gas began enveloping the pavement with blinding, choking clouds of white fog, a young man picked one up and threw it back toward the police.

  Inspired by their friend’s bravado, a wave of projectiles soon filled the air, mostly composed of anything the protestors could scavenge from the trashcans lining the sidewalks.

  The first storefront window shattered a few moments later, the breakage driven by the need for something to throw back at the cops rather than any desire for the goods displayed inside the hardware store.

  Zach did his best to try to find the two cartel instigators, but the task was simply impossible.

  Bound and determined not to let the now-violent multitude gain any momentum, the mounted officers charged into the center of the crowd, the 25 horse-wide wedge scattering any resistance. Behind the cavalry, a wall of clear, Plexiglas riot shields marched forward, the hawk-like helmets of the police peering over the top of the bulletproof barrier as they readied their batons.

  Zach didn’t want to hang around in the hope that his badge would provide immunity. It didn’t look like the APD was checking IDs.

  The ranger reacted like most of the surrounding crowd, retreating down an alley and then zigzagging through several side streets until the mob had thinned.

  Well away from the isolated pockets of violence still raging on 15th, Zach circled the dispersing crowd several times, trying in vain to catch another glimpse of the two cartel enforcers.

  Finally giving up the quest, he returned to the executive offices where he found Major Putnam milling around with the few remaining rangers.

  “Why would the cartel want to incite a riot?” the senior lawman asked after Zach had relayed his recent experiences. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Unknown, sir,” Zach answered honestly. “I suppose there’s a chance they were legit protestors caught up in one cause or another, but it sure seems odd that they would come prepared for battle.”

  “And you never saw Chico?”

  “No, sir. I did not.”

  Putnam scratched his head in thought. “Having a riot in the capital is not going to play well on the airwaves this evening. The general public is already uneasy over recent events. The closed borders and unrest in Mexico are sending economic shock waves through our economy, and a lot of very important people are nervous. Add in the fact that there’s a large segment that is hopping mad that Texas was involved in bioterror research, and we’re sitting on a tinderbox. Poke around, Ranger Bass, and see what you can find. But stay close to Austin. I have a feeling we’re in for a rough ride until the situation resolves one way or the other.”

  Zach wandered back to the scene where the protest had turned into an insurrection, Major Putnam’s words rolling around in the ranger’s troubled mind.

  His official reason for returning was the dim hope of catching a glimpse of Chico or his crew. At least, that’s what he initially told himself.

  In reality, Zach was deeply disturbed by Putnam’s attitude.

  The republic’s leadership was being pulled into a game they could not win. The ranger conjured up images of Simmons and Bowmark on puppet strings, Vincent and Ghost manipulating the controls.

  Zach believed both of his superiors were good, honest servants. He was also becoming increasingly convinced that Ghost and Vincent had them outmatched. Men like Bowmark and Simmons played by the rules of law and order, individual responsibility, and elected authority. It was their greatest strength, and now, their exposed vulnerability.

  The ranger walked past a row of ambulances, many of the injured, young college kids holding bloody bandages against their heads. There were cops there as well, more than a dozen officers injured in the line of duty.

  These are the people of Texas, he considered. These are the same people that sit across the aisle from me at the restaurant or nod hello at the grocery store. These are my countrymen, neighbors, and friends. What the hell are we doing to each other?

  Just beyond the medical triage area, he began to see even more evidence of the violence. A car, overturned and torched by the mob, was still smoldering. It fouled the air with more than just the fumes of burnt plastic and charred rubber – the stench was a harbinger of the republic’s future. It all sickened Zach.

  He continued his stroll through the aftermath, past the looted store windows, litter, and a few other pedestrians who wouldn’t make eye contract. All the while Zach searched for what was troubling him so deeply.

  Mexico was embroiled in open warfare, the conflict already boiling over into Texas on two occasions. Zach couldn’t conjure up any scenario where the fighting less than 200 miles to the south of where he stood wouldn’t continue to escalate. He could foresee the republic being pulled further into the quagmire with thousands and thousands of her sons and daughters being shipped home in body bags.

  Zach slowed to watch an older couple ambling toward him along the sidewalk. Just a few feet away, they stopped and stood speechless as they stared at a store that advertised itself as Moe and Betty’s Dry Cleaners. The place had been badly damaged. The woman turned to her partner and began crying uncontrollably.

  The ranger saw the man try and comfort her, his arm moving around her shoulder and pulling her close. All the while, a tear rolled down his cheek. “What are we going to do?” the lady managed to sob.

  “We’ll be okay, Betty. I promise. Things will work out – they always do.”

  Unable to take it any longer, Zach crossed the street and continued rambling through the aftermath. “This is my fault,” he whispered. “If I hadn’t let Ghost get away … if I’d just done my job.”

  His thoughts returned to Putnam’s orders. “Stay close to Austin,” his boss had commanded.

  “That type of thinking won’t resolve this conflict, Major,” The ranger pretended to argue with his boss. “That strategy will only lead to more heartbreak and death. That’s not the level of thinking required for Texas to win this thing. We need bold. We need ruthless. The republic must have strong, aggressive initiatives or the foes we face will destroy us. We need to battle evil with a greater evil, fight fire with hotter flames.”

  As the ranger continued strolling through the destruction, it dawned on him that Texas was now in reactionary mode. Simmons and the other leadership of the republic had to sit and wait for the opposition’s next move. They were on the defense, and that wasn’t how to achieve victory.

  He turned to stare back at the capitol building, its 300-foot outline dominating the skyline. A column of smoke partially o
bscured the grand dome. The gray and black cloud of ash provided an eerie, apocalyptic essence, that when combined with the sunlight, made it appear as if the structure itself was on fire. Zach knew it was an optical illusion but wondered for a moment if such a vision was a harbinger of the future.

  “Men like Ghost and Vincent would love to see you burn,” he whispered, staring at the icon of the republic.

  Zach pivoted, a determination spreading through his core. As he approached the capitol grounds, he paused for a moment to gaze up at the statue honoring Terry’s Texas Rangers, a regiment that had served with distinction during the Civil War.

  Zach had always admired the monument. A single man, on horseback, wearing a western hat with a repeating rifle in his hands. The sculpture captured the essence of the sacrifice and gallantry of the Texas cavalrymen while at the same time relaying the burden and fatigue that war placed on a man’s shoulders.

  His eyes zoomed in on the plaque where he read the words, “The Terry Rangers have done all that could be expected or required….”

  “Have I done all that could be expected?” he asked the lone rider. “Have I done all that is required?”

  It dawned on Zach that he could stop the madness. He could end this thing. Like the bronze cowboy above, he would take the fight to the enemy. It would require that he leave his beloved Texas, and perhaps the rangers, but there was no other choice. The lives of millions and the wellbeing of two different nations were at stake.

  The next morning, Putnam seemed surprised by Zach’s unusual request. “Sir, I’m requesting a few days of my accumulated leave.”

  “Now, Ranger Bass? Right when the republic faces its greatest challenge? This request doesn’t seem like the actions of the man I’ve come to know over the last few years.”

  “I’ve not taking a vacation, Major. There are, however, some avenues of investigation that I would like to pursue in an off-the-record capacity. I know my request is unusual, sir, but I don’t see any other option. I need to operate outside of official channels.”

  Putnam obviously didn’t like. For several minutes he tried to talk Zach out of the request, but the young Texan wouldn’t budge. The major had never seen his subordinate so resolute and determined. “Okay, Ranger Bass. Email me the vacation request form, and I’ll put it through. I pray that you know what you’re doing.”

  “That makes two of us, sir. A prayer may be all that can save us.”

  After disconnecting the call with his boss, Zach glanced at his watch and smiled. Sam was at a doctor’s appointment and would have her cell phone turned off. It was the perfect time to call.

  “Sam,” he advised her voicemail, “I’m taking a few days off. All this is beginning to weigh on me, and I’m going to head up into the mountains for a little hiking, fresh air, and reflection. I won’t have cell service, so I’ll call you when I get back. Hope the doc says you’re doing well.”

  His next call was to Cheyenne. “What’s up, cowboy? Or should I say, are you up, cowboy?”

  “I need your help,” he answered with a serious tone.

  His request caught her off guard. Zach never needed help. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing more than what you are reading about in the headlines. Do you think your dad would let you borrow his truck for a day?”

  The model was clearly mystified by the request. “Umm … sure … Why do I need a truck? Don’t you already have one?”

  He didn’t answer, instead firing another question. “Are you working today?”

  “No, Mr. Texas Ranger Man, today is my only day off this week. I was going to call you and see if you were willing to offer this girl a little couple time. I just did this hot lingerie shoot and got to take home a few samples….”

  “I wish, but believe it or not, that’s not really what I had in mind. I need you to help me sneak across the border and not tell a soul that you did it.”

  Now Chey was really worried. “Zachariah Bass, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

  “Get your dad’s truck and meet me at my place, ASAP. I’ll explain it all when you get there.”

  She wanted to launch a dozen questions, but she’d known him since they were kids. Something in Zach’s tone warned her not to press. “Okay. It will take me a couple of hours, but I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, Chey. I owe you one.”

  Chapter 12

  It felt odd to the Texan.

  He’d carried a badge for so long, been in a position of authority for so many years. Now, here, he was just a regular guy – an average Joe. The fact that he was about to commit a series of crimes added to the peculiar sensations running through his mind.

  For the Nth time, he reconsidered his plan. Wouldn’t it be easier to sneak across to Mexico via a small boat? He was sure such craft could be rented in Brownsville. But I don’t know how to pilot a boat, he reasoned.

  Perhaps hiking across the border from Texas would be the smarter option? No, he came to the same mental conclusion. Since the massacre and outbreak of civil war, the line between Texas and Mexico is now an armed camp. The military is shooting first, asking questions later. I don’t blame them.

  After a long goodbye, he’d watched Cheyenne amble away in her dad’s truck. Standing at the trailhead, he’d wondered if he would ever see her again. She was absolutely sure he had gone loco, and quite frankly, he couldn’t blame her for thinking that, either.

  Zach had worked the Texas-New Mexico border area for years. He knew every back trail and unmarked road. It had been child’s play to cross. The U.S. Border Patrol, new to working an area between states, hadn’t figured it all out yet. Chey had been able to cross the Land of Enchantment without issue, keeping below the speed limit and heading west using secondary roadways.

  He hiked for two hours through the state park, following the marked trails with his heavy pack full of equipment. Primitive camping wasn’t popular in Whitmire Canyon ... but not unheard of. Most outdoorsmen were too afraid of the border area and chose destinations further north. For Zach’s purposes, it was the perfect locale.

  “I’m just another backpacker, enjoying the dry air,” he kept whispering as he made his way through the rugged, high desert terrain. The ruse was unnecessary. He hadn’t seen another soul.

  After an hour, he was second-guessing the adventure. The ranger’s leg muscles were beginning to burn, the late afternoon sun draining his reserves. Blisters were in his future. “You spend too much time riding in a truck,” he cursed, scanning the barren rock and hot sands. “This is good for you.”

  Two miles north of the Mexican border, the wilderness area ended, the boundary denoted by a common livestock fence.

  Pausing to take a drink of water from the reservoir strapped on his back, Zach pondered his next move. As soon as he crossed the fence, he would technically be breaking the law as a trespasser. A few miles further on, he’d come to the international border where he would begin compounding his crimes.

  But first, he’d have to get past the U.S. authorities.

  Zach figured that his time spent working with the U.S. Border Patrol before the secession would come in handy. He knew their technology, tactics, and capabilities. These folks were very good at their jobs. It would take some doing to cross. Old women with children did it all the time … surely a Texas Ranger could pull it off.

  Zach removed his pack and dropped it onto the private property. He didn’t know who owned the land. It was most likely a cattle rancher who lived miles away and probably wouldn’t care. There were no barns, wells, water tanks or other infrastructure in sight. Nothing to harm or steal.

  There were, however, likely to be ground vibration sensors and perhaps even infrared cameras watching the area. The ranger had no idea where such devices might be located as they were often moved to keep the other side guessing.

  He did know there was no fence on this section of the border. The Mexican side was just as devoid of population, towns, and roads. That, combined wi
th the harsh environment and rugged landscape, meant this area wasn’t a popular crossing point. Still, the ranger was sure it was monitored.

  Climbing the 4-wire fence was easy, the Texan’s long legs and thick-soled boots making the barb wire strands an ineffective detriment. After pulling on his pack, he began walking south, now more alert to his surroundings than before. Now, he was breaking the law.

  According to the satellite maps, the only roadway between him and Mexico was actually more of a path. Two worn lanes of dirt served as a patrol route for the green and white trucks of border patrol.

  Zach knew the odds were strong that they would be coming. Between the cameras, ground sensors, helicopters, and drones, there was very little chance he would escape their scrutiny.

  He found himself crossing a respite of prairie grass and mature trees, the foliage and flat ground a welcome change from the harsh gray and red rock that had monopolized his journey so far.

  The island of green was short-lived however, the environment quickly reverting back to scorched, barren surroundings seemingly devoid of all life.

  Zach worked his way down a draw, wanting to follow the low ground as much as possible. Neither infrared nor light amplification devices could see through solid rock.

  Down he climbed, the rock and stone walls growing steeper as he followed a dry creek bed along the bottom of what was turning out to be a rather deep canyon. The heat was nearly unbearable, Zach constantly depleting the water supply strapped to his back.

  It was easy to understand how this part of the Southwest had claimed so many dead. Zach was in good condition, jogged and lifted weights on a regular basis, and had significant drinking water available to him – yet he struggled with the exertion, heat, and dry air.

  He noted his body was using far more water than usual, every breath of the low-humidity air drawing critical moisture from his cells. His perspiration was evaporating almost instantly, making his body fight even harder to keep itself cool.

  Eventually, his canyon led to a larger valley. Snaking through the bottom of the flatter ground, he spied the route traveled by the border patrol agents. The international boundary was another mile south.