by Caryl McAdoo
Go on now, boy. They need you.
Boggs rose and followed, but stayed back out of sight from the children; maybe his master would call him back. He tracked them with his nose for a ways then realized they headed to a bad place. He quickened his pace and came even with them, but far enough up-creek side for them not to see him.
For some strange reason, men and their children had no sense of smell. That fact had served him well during the times he had no master. But he put the thought away. Once again, he was on his own except that he had a job to do.
The children stopped, and he belly crawled until he got eyes on them. The biggest boy held the stickery wires—one up with his hand and another down with his foot—and the other two crawled through. Boggs waited until the one called Jackson climbed over then cut through the underbrush, staying even with his new pack, but still out of sight.
Why couldn’t they at least sense the danger?
Hate hung heavy on the morning air.
“Go-o-o awa-a-a-ay.”
The trio stopped. All three looked in the direction of the warning. The girl pointed toward the tree where the brute stretched the rope that tied him to its limit.
Good, they spotted him.
Boggs eased closer. The Rottweiler barked another ferocious command then lunged toward the children. His rope stopped him. As the kids neared the barn closest to him, the big bad dog backed away then charged toward them again. This time, the rope snapped in two, and he sprang for them at a power run.
Oh no! Boggs leapt forward. His paws barely touched the ground. He angled toward the young ones. The biggest boy swung off his backpack. He held it out as a shield. The girl screamed to the top of her lungs and ran, dragging the smallest one with her. The Rott closed the distance then lunged toward Jackson.
The boy blocked him, but the bully sank his teeth into the canvas. He hung onto the cloth growling and shaking it.
At the last breath, Boggs propelled himself onto the mutt. He knocked him away from the boy. Catching a good hold of neck flesh, he rolled the Rott—and himself in the process. Boggs stopped on his back and raked his extra dew claws up and down the brute’s belly until the blood flowed free.
“Stop! Let go-o-o. I give.” The bigger dog whined.
Boggs pushed off his weight and rolled to his feet. “Get then. Away with you.”
The Rott ducked his stump of a tail and slinked off without a look back.
Boggs watched until he disappeared then faced the bigger boy. He liked this one they called Jackson, brave and willing to fight to protect the smaller ones. Most kids he knew, even bigger ones, would have run. He sat on his haunches and looked into the boy’s eyes, wagging his long, full-curled tail.
Well, now that Boggs had set the big dog straight, his master should be calling him back. The Rott must have been the reason the kids needed him. He trotted over beside the smallest one who rewarded him with a big hug.
“You saved us. You’re a good dog.”
Jackson exhaled and shook his head. For a minute there, he thought he might be breakfast. He walked up beside his brother and the big white dog. “Hey, feller. Where’d you come from?”
The animal wasn’t so pretty and white anymore, stained with the other mutt’s blood. He looked up at Jackson with such a self-satisfied expression. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the beast acted a bit smug about the whole deal. “So I guess you decided to come with us, huh?”
Cooper ran his hand from the dog’s crown all the way to his tail, then parted the thick hair where there was blood. “You okay, boy?” He glanced up. “Can you believe he saved you? And us, too! He’s a great dog. Do you think he’s hurt?”
“He looks fine to me, Bubba.”
“Hey, guys. Over here.” McKenzie stood on a rickety chair looking in a window of an old portable building someone must have dragged out to the stables for a tack room or maybe feed storage.
“What is it?”
“There’s a kid in there, all tied up, and he has tape or something on his mouth.”
“What?”
“A kid, I said. I think he’s a boy.”
Hurrying to the building, Jackson stepped onto the chair as soon as she vacated it. He peered in through the dirty glass. Sure enough, a boy lay on his side tied to a chair with duct tape on his hands and feet and another piece over his mouth. “How’d you find him?”
“When the dog charged, I looked for somewhere to run. I took off for this little building, but the door was locked. I heard a thud inside it. Must have been when he fell over.”
Wow, what a wonder she found him. Jackson jumped off the chair and pulled on the door. It gave a little but not much. He stepped back and kicked it. Seemed to give a little more, but still didn’t open.
“Watch out.” Cooper had a stubby piece of a branch. He aimed it for the window. “If I can break the glass, I can climb in.”
Just as his brother tried to sail it like a torpedo at the window, Jackson caught ahold of the limb. He looked in again and figured the boy was far enough away that the glass wouldn’t hurt him. He thumped the window. “Hey, watch out. We’re going to break the glass then we can get you out.”
He tapped it, then again, harder. On his third try, it broke. He picked out the larger shards that came out easy then scraped the wood against all the little ones until the frame looked smooth and felt clean. “Come here, Coop.” Jackson braced himself against the wall and slid down until his thigh was parallel with the ground. “Use my knee as a step.”
“Sure.”
With the ease that only a limber nine-year-old could muster, his brother climbed through the window. He untied the boy and took off all the tape.
“Excellent! Thank you so very much!”
Jackson and his sister shared the chair for a good view of what went on inside. His little brother bent down for the kid like he’d just done, giving him a boost.
“Use my knee for a step.”
The boy stepped right up and grabbed Jackson’s hand on his way out the window. “Thanks, dude! It’s amazing that you discovered me.”
Cooper was back out the window in record time. “What were you doing in there? Who tied you up and left you?”
The boy, maybe McKenzie’s age, looked around then shook his head. “Time for explanations will come, but later, my friends. We best get out of here before they return! My nanny’s gangster boyfriend kidnapped me, and she insists on feeding me regularly. Breakfast is long overdue.”
Jackson nodded and pointed. “This way.” He headed off towards the river. “So who are they?”
The kid followed beside him seeming to have some trouble keeping up. “Her name is Lupe Sanchez. I only know him by Travers. He is one bad dude. When everything went down, he got the bright idea that I’d be worth my weight in food or guns or whatever the low-life thought my dad would give them.”
Having another mouth to feed did not thrill Jackson in any way, but he couldn’t leave the kid. He could leave a dog, but not a helpless, kidnapped boy. “Okay, you’re with us, but you need to understand one thing. You do what I say. Got that? Without questions.”
“No problem, sir.” He almost had to run to keep up with Jackson’s normal steps. What was with the kid? “Name’s Albert; my dad calls me Al, and Mom calls me Bert. Just please don’t call me Einstein.”
McKenzie giggled.
Jackson reached the river’s edge then turned east, moving along the bank. “I’m Jackson, that’s my sister McKenzie, and he’s our little brother Cooper.”
“So what is your intended destination, if you have one? Or are you merely on the move? If I may ask, that is.”
A few trees and undergrowth allowed some cover, but not nearly enough to satisfy Jackson. He ignored the question due to much more important brain fodder. If alone, he’d slip on down the bank and get into the water, but he led a crew—a regular ready-made party—and needed to plan accordingly.
After not more than a quarter-mile, a bridge came into view.
He stopped and turned around. “Wait up.” He pulled out his map and unfolded it.
“MacArthur Boulevard.” The new kid pointed to the spot on the map.
“You sure?”
“Oh, yes, sir. We came this way a lot.”
Jackson studied him for a minute. “Dude, you have to do what I say. You do not have to call me sir. How old are you anyway?” He didn’t see any deceit or know of any other reason why the boy would mislead him, and the distance would be just about right.
“Fourteen, and I’m really sorry. Bad or good, it’s a habit. But Dad says it never hurts to show your elders respect.”
“Okay, then, but I’m only a year older. Now let’s move out.”
McKenzie grabbed his arm. “Hey, what about breakfast?”
Jackson nodded toward the east. “We can stop and eat when we get on the other side of that bridge.”
“Whatever, Brother dear. You are not king.”
He snorted at her. “I definitely don’t want to run into Al’s nanny and her boyfriend, do you, Queenie?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just moved on out. It pleased him that no one else gave him any grief, and that she fell right in behind him even if she had given him some lip. Halfway to the bridge, the dog shot past him.
Slightly ahead, he sat on his haunches and stared off to the east. Hmm. He had been walking in back beside Cooper. Then the animal stood, the hair along his spine bristled.
Jackson caught up and knelt beside the animal. He draped an arm over his shoulder. Following the dog’s gaze, he searched the woods to the east. “What it is, boy?”
Their chatter reached him first, and he ducked back into the cover, pressing the others behind him. Then through the trees, movement up on the road became apparent. About a half-dozen or so, men and women, came into view. All of them pushed full shopping carts.
Al joined him. He grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. The kid sure didn’t have much of a grip. “It’s them! We can’t let them see us.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jackson waited until Lupe and her gang-banger friends crossed the bridge then eased over the bank on his bottom. He slid down the fifteen or twenty feet to the river’s edge without a tumble. Cooper zoomed past him, barely stopping short of the water. He dared not holler, but he’d certainly get him later.
At the water’s edge, he turned and looked up.
McKenzie and Al still sat at the top on the edge, legs dangling over.
Glaring, he motioned with his arm. “Come on! Now!” He kept his voice as low, but authoritative as possible. Those two! He couldn’t believe them jeopardizing their position like that. Maybe Al was like the cabin boy in that old movie his mother loved watching. Swiss Family Robinson; that was the name of it.
The one where the he turned out to really be a she.
What was his problem? Little Cooper didn’t have any trouble sliding down.
His sister threw her sweater over first then turned around and eased off the edge, sliding down on her toes and belly. Unwise. Jackson stopped her before she got wet. Al looked over his shoulder a few times. Anyone could tell he dreaded the mission. But thank goodness that had-to won out over don’t-want-to, and over the edge he came on his rear.
“Oh, oh, o-o-o-o-o!” The idiot made noise all the way down.
“Dude! You’ve got to be quiet! Right?”
Standing, he wiped off his rear end, nodding. “Yes, sir, I apologize.” He spoke too loud, then whispered. “I mean, sorry. I know, sir. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to –”
“That’s enough. Zip it.” Jackson put a finger vertically to his lips.
The dog jumped over the edge and half-ran, half-slid down on all fours; looked like he was skiing or something. Whitey sure was growing on him. He’d never been much of an animal person, but this big guy proved time and again to be different from any dog he’d ever been around.
Saved them twice already that morning.
Fifty yards or so from the bridge, the bank and all his cover played out. Anyone passing on the road above would be able to see them in plain view. His troupe would be about thirty feet or so below the bridge, but if someone from Lupe’s bunch turned up hunting Al, they’d be on all of them in nothing flat.
“Why’d we stop?”
He glared at his sister, shook his head, and resisted a retort. He stuck his head out as far as he dared and looked both ways. “Let’s go. One at a time.”
He broke into an easy lope, what his dad called a dog trot. He claimed a soldier carrying a thirty-pound pack could keep it up all day at that pace if he had to. Jackson hoped he never had to find out if he could. He reached the bridge’s shadow then turned toward them.
Cooper soon stood with Jackson. McKenzie moved faster than he’d ever seen her go. Then even Al arrived with no snags, though he barely went more than a fast walk. Jackson wanted to holler for him to hurry, but that wouldn’t do under the circumstances. He eased through the bridge’s shadow, checked the other side both directions, then sent the others ahead one at a time to the relative safety of the far woods.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, but probably wasn’t more than just a few minutes, the new kid reached the woods, too. Jackson took off and rejoined the others; then like he designated himself the rear guard, the white dog raced to his side. Had the old man been some kind of dog whisperer or something?
That was one special mutt.
A mile or so east, after the river’s bank played out to only maybe three feet on either side, Jackson decided to move away from the water for a while. He needed to find a hidden spot and feed McKenzie before she started in on him again. Plus, his stomach had growled a time or two, as well. “What say we get into a thicker cover then take a break. Eat a little.”
It amazed him that there was so much wilderness right in the middle of the DFW Metroplex, but the powers that be probably wouldn’t let anyone build down there because of the flooding. Though buildings and new construction could be seen in every direction, the river bottoms remained pretty much as they had always been for decades—maybe even centuries—except for the power lines that ran through.
Jackson studied the giant metal towers that extended one after another as far as he could see, both out in front of him and behind. They cut through the bottomland in a wide swath of mowed grasses and looked even bigger close up. Just short of the nearest one, he found exactly what he was looking for; a spot not so overgrown and surrounded by three trees, cedar elms if he remembered right.
He broke out a can of sardines and passed out three crackers each. “Not much, but it’ll have to do for now.”
Al nodded, took the saltines, but passed on the fish. “Y’all can divvy up my Sardinella Longiceps.”
“Say what?” Cooper took his share then dug into his backpack.
Al smiled. “That, my friend, is the scientific name for the stinky little fishes in a can.”
His brother’s hand came out with a handful of small packets. He wore a big smile. “Anyone want ketchup?” He looked at Jackson. “Hey, you said pack food. Ketchup’s food!”
Al held out his hand toward Coop. “Yes, sir, and thank you. I would thoroughly enjoy one of your Dairy Queen packets.”
Coop passed the boy one over McKenzie, accepting her crackers and fish. Jackson put one of his slippery silver sardines on a cracker and held it out for the dog. Whitey opened his mouth, and Jackson put the offering on his tongue. The animal gulped it down with hardly a chew, then both ears perked.
The canine looked into some faraway distance for a moment; seemed to be listening before he stood and hurried away.
Jackson watched him disappear then turned his attention to Al. “So, what’s your story? You a pampered rich kid or what?”
The guy ducked his head then lifted one shoulder in a rather half-hearted gesture. “Others might enlist me into such a category during earlier times, but any pampering or wealth unquestionably vanished five days ago with the EMP.”
McKenzie
almost choked, coughing and gagging. “The what? Are you saying that you know what happened?”
“Yes, ma’am, certainly. In my estimation, an EMP is the only logical explanation as to why everything electronic ceased to function at precisely the same time.”
Cooper held his head back, mouth wide, ketchup packet open and hanging over his pie hole. “What’s empty got to do with anything?” He then squeezed the whole packet of red condiment, and it dropped in globs between his lips. Next, he tossed in a sardine.
Al put on quite a superior I-can’t-believe-you-didn’t-get-it expression. “Cooper, E-M-P. You know. It’s Starfish Prime all over again.”
Right back, McKenzie gave him one of those stop-being-a-smart-aleck looks Jackson knew so well. “Good grief, lighten up, Einstein. He’s only nine! Now how about you tell us exactly what you’re talking about. Except this time, leave out the riddles and sea creatures. What do those initials stand for?”
“Acronym. They’re an acronym for Electro Magnetic Pulse. Someone must have set off a nuclear explosion high in the atmosphere, probably somewhere over Kansas—at least that’s the logical place. I can only presume the outage extends coast to coast. Nothing else makes sense.”
“Well, if you ask me, you’re not making sense. If it was a nuke, why weren’t we all vaporized or whatever that happens when you get bombed.”
“Yeah, shouldn’t we have boils with pus and stuff?”
“If exploded in the upper atmosphere, its radiation would never reach us. The whoevers were obviously not trying to kill us. They only wanted to set American society back into the eighteen hundreds, and it would appear they have succeeded.”
Jackson was fine with letting his sister do all the heavy lifting on the question front. Except that she’d stopped short, and he wanted to know more, understand better. “Isn’t that a pretty crazy thing to say? Why would anyone want to do that?”
Al shrugged. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?”
The old radio show’s punch line didn’t offer much of an answer. His great-grandfather had worn out that old cliché. The old man so totally expounded on how terrible things were before TVs, ACs, PCUs, and iEverythings—plus all the other modern conveniences—until none of the grandkids even liked talking with him much.
