The King's Highway (Days of Dread Trilogy Book 1)

by Caryl McAdoo

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jackson smiled at his sister. “Love you.”

  “Do you? Really?”

  “Of course, I do.” He stuck out his hand. How many times had one or the other of their parents made them makeup by shaking on it?

  She gave him her dead fish shake then pulled her hand back. “I love you, too, but –”

  “No buts. We can agree to disagree. Deal?”

  “Fine.”

  “Sir?”

  Jackson looked from his sister to the nerd. “What is it?”

  “I’ve been looking at this lunar chart, sir.” Al extended a piece of cardboard.

  “Okay.” Jackson took it and studied it a minute. “Looks like we’ll have plenty of light tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Not a bad idea. Instead of just getting under Irving Boulevard then trying to find a spot to camp, maybe he should push on, eat up some miles by night and hole up during the day. At least until they traveled well out of the Metroplex. He handed the chart back. “So, who won the chess match?”

  Al grinned. “Inconclusive. Currently, Cooper is two games up.”

  “That would be two wins to none.” His brother smiled. “I’m skunking him.”

  “Told you he was good.” Jackson turned his attention back to McKenzie. “Let’s eat something. We still have some time before dark. No fire though.”

  “We don’t have much pork left.”

  He shrugged. “We can finish it up and break out one of the army meals. That will have to do.”

  Finally, he got everyone fed and back on the move. It’d been a good thirty minutes since he’d seen anyone on the road. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving McKenzie and Aria gasping at the sunset’s pinks, purples, and golds. Granted, it did create quite a sight, but sister always went overboard talking about God painting the sky.

  Cooper and Boggs went first, then the others. One at a time, he sent them out with instructions to stop under the bridge. He brought up the rear. Once he caught up, he repeated the process to the first group of trees about a hundred yards or so on the other side.

  A couple of miles north, he reached Carpenter Freeway and scanned the major freeway from Irving that traveled south to downtown and north to Carrollton. Other than all the crashed and dead vehicles—one had obviously gone through the barriers off the overpass—nothing moved. He decided to keep everyone together. The cover along the river didn’t play out until right before the bridge then picked right back up on the other side.

  The high-lines stayed close to the water that bent around where the old Texas Stadium used to be. All he could make out was a tall crane. He’d never forget the day they imploded the landmark. One day the stadium stood proud, then it was gone, only a pile of rubble to be hauled away.

  But not his childhood memories of his dad taking him there to watch the Cowboys play; he’d always have those.

  Cooper had wanted to go watch it get blown up, but Mother wasn’t interested. The nationwide news channel played a video of the implosion, but it would have been way more fun to see it in person. Dad would have taken them. But mother couldn’t help being a girl.

  A bit after high moon—was that midnight? The nerd would know, but Jackson didn’t care enough to ask—the lines crossed over a raised railroad track. Right on the other side of that, they spanned a wide lake surrounded by heavy woods. “McKenzie, let me see the old man’s note.”

  Handy as a pocket on a shirt, she retrieved it from her book. It appeared she was almost finished with that story. Had she brought another novel? Maybe he could find a bookstore or library somewhere along the way.

  “Sis, look at this.”

  She leaned close. “What?”

  “I don’t remember this being there before, do you?” He touched the note.

  “N on RR…Norman on Rough Riders? I don’t know. I don’t think so. That is so weird how it keeps changing, but what does it mean?”

  “Everyone wait here.” He slipped off his pack and jogged back to the last pylon. The number matched. He returned. “Seems like from here we need to go north on the railroad tracks.”

  McKenzie held her hand out. “What? Let me see the note.”

  He pointed to the fourth row of numbers. “See there? That’s the last pylon’s number, and right after that, N on RR. Don’t you think it’d be more logical than Norman on Rough Riders? North on the railroad?”

  She made that puckered face he hated.

  Boggs, who had been staying right with Cooper, bolted, raced up the side of the tracks, then sat on his haunches and looked at him. Jackson couldn’t see for sure, but he’d bet the dog wore that funny grin he put on every time he was proud of himself.

  Maybe he was a shift-shaping alien after all. Him and the old man, or maybe he was the old man. Jackson didn’t know, but why not? Weird couldn’t get any weirder, could it? Much as he might hate admitting it, someone somewhere obviously helped him. Maybe his dad had been killed and come back as a guardian angel?

  No, not unless it happened after the flash. If before, he would have heard about it. Plus, his father didn’t believe in all that religious hocus pocus stuff anymore than he did.

  “Let’s move it, people. We’re going north on the rails. Let’s hurry, but be careful.”

  “Really, quit calling us people, Jackson. You sure about this?”

  Pulling McKenzie a few feet away from the others, he put his mouth close to her ear. “No, but it feels right and…” He put a hand on each of her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. “Trust me; I think we need to follow the old man’s note.”

  Her eyes widened. “So, you believe it is from the Lord, and He is guiding us.”

  “I didn’t say that, but between the note and the dog, I can’t deny someone is. It could be Coop’s shape-shifter aliens as far as I know. That explanation’s about as logical as you declaring it’s God.”

  She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. “Yeah, right. But you’re thinking the railroad is part of the King’s Highway now?”

  “Looks that way; leastwise, it might get us back to another part of it. I don’t know but N on RR seems clear enough to me.” He wanted to tell her about seeing the old man at the golf course, but of late doubted he really had. Might have been his eyes playing tricks on him. But what about the bags?

  And Boggs. He saw him, too.

  “Okay, I’m with you, big lug.”

  Not needing her to accuse him of trying to be her father, he resisted the urge to kiss her forehead. Even if he did carry his father’s authority in that situation. Man, if only it could be his dad leading the little army instead of him. He smiled at that thought. Some army he had: two girls, a nerd, and his little brother.

  Well, he did have the dog.

  “Okay, Cooper, you and Boggs take the point.”

  “Come on, fella.” The little boy started up the middle of the tracks stepping from crosstie to crosstie. It only took a blink of the eye before the dog immediately walked behind him. Jackson’s heart swelled. That kid was such a trooper.

  For the next hour or so, the tracks cut through heavily wooded bottomland, then they reached a narrow asphalt road. If he held the map just right, he could read it in the moonlight. Seemed he’d reached California Crossing. Finally, he’d got them out of Irving. Not even a stalled car in either direction on this almost country-like road. He hurried everyone across.

  The railroad then cut through what appeared to be an industrial district. Here and there in the distance, a fire flickered, but nothing too close. He liked traveling in the woods and their great cover even better, but following the tracks still beat going through neighborhoods. The note had kept him out of the populated areas so far.

  The note.

  What was he to think of that crazy, changing note? Who could be doing it? Who could know where those high-lines went and the best route to take? An electric company man? But why would some random man even care, much less spend the time
to work it all out and get the information to them? And how would he know the destination?

  Weird his sister had called it, and so it was.

  Bizarre, peculiar, and baffling indeed.

  He pressed them on. According to the map, it looked that on the other side of the next road, he’d be back into the Trinity’s bottomland. After walking way too far on crossties, he reached the edge of LBJ Freeway just as the moon neared the horizon. A nice patch of woods on either side of the ten-lane monstrosity offered a good place to stop.

  Soon, he had them off the tracks and into thick cover again. Much better.

  Cooper and Al slumped down and were asleep in minutes. Boggs lay down between the two. Jackson loved it that the dog had taken to Coop, almost like the animal took at least a part of the responsibility of the group’s smallest member off his shoulders or something.

  He faced McKenzie. “You and Aria go ahead and get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

  Before long, everyone’s breath had slowed, and all of his charges made various sleep sounds. He found a tree that he could lean against and see a small part of the raised freeway. He sat cross-legged and leaned back. In no time, he changed his position to one less comfortable.

  With each breath, it got harder for him to keep his eyes open.

  Finally, the soft glow of predawn lit the sky. The sun getting up over the treetops good helped, but man, he needed a nap, and none of the others even stirred. Boggs raised his head, looked at him as though assessing the situation, then belly crawled to his side. The dog positioned himself right next to his leg and stretched out his front paws.

  The animal seemed to stare at the exact spot Jackson had been watching.

  He patted the dog’s head. “Okay, I get it. You’re on the job.” He closed his eyes. “Thanks, boy.”

  With every intention of only resting real quick, he fell headlong into a black hole, and fatigue sucked him deeper and deeper. A hand on his shoulder pulled him awake. The old man stood in front of him saying something, but Jackson couldn’t make it all out—not exactly.

  Beware?

  Of whom?

  The old dude backed away a step and cupped his hands over his mouth. His lips moved but no sound came out. Jackson tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t or couldn’t work. He shook his shoulders. His eyes popped open. For a second, he thought he saw the anomaly in the shadows of the trees.

  Then it was gone. Or had he even been there?

  Boggs hadn’t moved, still laid next to him, head up and alert, ever watching. Jackson glanced at the sun, high overhead. He pushed himself to his feet and slipped a ways out to take care of some personal business. Man, what he would give for a hot shower and another hour or three in his own bed.

  Circling around the still sleeping kids, he found a hidden spot with a good view of the freeway. A few folks moved along it, all carrying loads or pushing grocery carts or pulling little wagons. Felt good all over to stand. He worked the muscles in his shoulders then his back; hadn’t been this sore since early in the football season.

  Thinking of sports made him sad. Would he ever play another game?

  He didn’t see how.

  Even if the Russians hadn’t invaded, how long would it take after one of those EMPs for things to get back to normal? And if the Ruskies really were responsible…oh, he couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not until he got the kids somewhere safe and found his mother.

  He pondered on such.

  Could he really do it? Get them to Honey Grove then find his mom if she wasn’t already there? Maybe that was all just wishful thinking? But if she wasn’t, if her parents hadn’t heard from her, should he really go back? How likely would it be that he’d ever find her?

  And the strange old man….

  What was he all about? Had the man tried to warn him against some future danger, or was Jackson’s mind only playing tricks on him? If only he could remember exactly what he’d said.

  A peculiar feeling pulled McKenzie awake. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but whatever or whoever stared at her made her feel icky all over. She needed for them to stop. Her right eye opened just a fraction. Albert, on his side with his head propped up on one hand, lay only a few feet from her. He bore holes into her with his piercing brown eyes.

  “Exactly what are you doing?” She kept her voice low, but hoped she put enough outrage in it for him to get the message

  He smiled a sheepish grin. “Admiring your beauty.”

  “Yeah, right.” She rolled to her back, both eyes open. “You some kind of pervert?”

  “Why ever would you query such a thing? Of course, I assure you, fair mademoiselle, I am in no way depraved!” He scooted around and sat up. “And why would you consider it wanton of me to esteem you? In my assessment, you are exceedingly exquisite, one extraordinary-looking lady.”

  “Al, really?”

  “Personally, I love to admire all beautiful things, a sunset or starlit sky.” He stuck his bottom lip out, obviously thinking. “A hay meadow at dawn or still lake at dusk. Beauty intoxicates, especially when of the female persuasion.”

  She sat up. Her whole body protested, but she ignored it. “So you really think I’m pretty?” Dare she say it? “Beautiful?”

  “Yes, I absolutely do. Hasn’t everyone always told you so?”

  She ignored his question. Before, only her daddy said it, and he was prejudiced. “So, what are you, Al? A freshman?” She liked the idea that a high school boy thought she was so attractive.

  He laughed. “Yes and no.”

  “That doesn’t make sense; either you are, or you’re not. Which is it?”

  “Age-wise, yes. I’d be a ninth grader, but in actuality, I’m in my second year—a sophomore—at SMU. Or rather, that was so before the EMP.”

  “Southern Methodist University?” She shook her head. “How in the world did that happen?”

  “Well, when I failed kindergarten, Dad got involved.”

  She chuckled. “You go from flunking kindergarten to SMU in what, seven years? I don’t think so.”

  With a pained expression, he shrugged. “I’m certain it sounds stranger than fiction, but at the tender age of five, the class bored me. I didn’t excel at coloring within their lines, a major gaffe in the majority of academic circles. I preferred spending my day at school reading my dad’s sci-fi mystery novels. I smuggled them in my lunch bag.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a genre.”

  “Anyway, the Cretan only failed me because she hated my intelligence, me being smarter than her. My presumption is that frequently correcting her grammar probably didn’t help any.”

  Was he for real? “All that when you were only five?”

  “Yes, but Mother always called me an old soul.”

  She opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Voices drifted on the breeze, lots of voices. “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes.” He stood. “I do. It emanates in the west. And it sounds as if it’s getting closer.”

  She looked around. Cooper and Aria still slept, but Jackson and the dog were nowhere to be seen. She stood. “You stay here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but if I may inquire, where are you going?”

  “To find my brother.”

  The nausea in the pit of her stomach concerned her. She hated even the thought of…but nothing could have happened to him. Especially not with Boggs along. Jackson had always been her protector. She didn’t like it one little bit that he’d gone on to high school and left her in the eighth grade.

  Still, everyone knew he was her big brother, and that he would not tolerate anyone getting out of line with her.

  At the edge of the woods, Jackson sat in deep cover, staring at the rather large group of folks. Men, women, and children worked their way east around the dead autos. He glanced at her then back to the group. She knelt beside him and studied the tribe a few seconds.

  “Maybe we should make contact, see about joining up with them.”

  “No. Lo
ok closer. See the ones in the center pushing the carts?”

  “Yeah. What about them?”

  “I think the guys with the guns are the bosses, and that the ones in the middle are their slaves.”

  “No. That can’t be.”

  How she hated that dead-pan face he gave her. Like, what an idiot. “Watch them for a while. See if you don’t agree.”

  She did exactly that. Within seconds, one of the gunmen shoved a cart pusher for no apparent reason. The poor man almost fell. “Why’d he do that?” She looked at her brother. “That’s terrible.”

  “No one to stop him.” He slipped his hand into her hers and squeezed gently. “Come on.” He eased up and stepped backwards. “We don’t want them seeing us.”

  She let him pull her up then walked next to him but kept an eye on the group. “Well, I think it’s awful that the devil is running amuck.”

  “Is that what it is? Satan himself making them do it, huh?”

  She didn’t answer him. Why couldn’t he see the truth about things? Who did he think wrote ‘Follow the King’s Highway’ on that note?

  She looked skyward and smiled.

  Thank you, Father.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After lunch, one of the dried army meals, Jackson tried to nap. But each time he dozed, the slavers pulled him back awake. Is that what happened to his mom? He hated thinking about such a thing, hating the idea of his sister or brother getting caught, too. Why had all this taken place? He found no answers or any rest.

  A hot shower, a warm bed, and someone else to be in charge would be the best.

  Someone to watch over him.

  For a while, he wallowed in poor me. Then something his father said more than once came to him. A man does whatever a man has to do. His dad only said it when something real unpleasant needed doing, like the time he fixed his grandfather’s septic tank. Jackson could swear that he still smelled that nastiness.

  Yuk.

  But…either he and Dad did it, or everyone lived with a stopped-up toilet for the whole three-day weekend. Seemed country plumbers didn’t come on holidays.