by Caryl McAdoo
And putting words in the mouth of a dying man, or was he an angel, too? Could be an alien and his little brother had appraised the situation spot on.
Too many questions. Way too many without any answers.
A soda, a big bag of salty potato chips, and a Spongebob Square Pants rerun would be pretty fine right about then. He longed to be able to let his mind go numb and stop thinking so much. He couldn’t have the sugar and salt and idiot TV, so he pictured the map instead. If he had it figured right, he was south of Sherman. He pulled out the compass.
The needle pointed east, exactly the direction he needed to be going.
He quickened his pace until he walked beside Al, who always seemed to be next to his sister. “When is moonset?”
“Ten forty-two this morning, sir.”
“Sunrise?”
“Six-fifty-three.”
Jackson glanced skyward; the moon wasn’t halfway yet. “What time do you figure it is?”
“Presently?”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah, now.”
The nerd looked up then bobbed his head back and forth a few times as though counting something. “I’d estimate four-sixteen, give or take ten minutes.”
McKenzie bumped her shoulder against his. “How could you possibly know that?”
He raised his off shoulder a bit and smiled at her. “Elementary, my dear McKenzie. Mathematic calculations, it’s just adding and subtracting.”
Jackson slowed his step, allowing Sherlock and his sidekick to walk on ahead again. He preferred being in the back, bringing up the rear with everyone in his sight. For the next half hour or so, he followed the others, then Cooper stopped short of a raised highway. Jackson joined the others, who piled up around his little brother, and pulled out the map.
If he held it just right, he could see it in the pale moonlight. “Looks to me like we’ve reached Highway Seventy-five.”
Al leaned over the map. “I concur that your assumption is correct, sir. An interstate.”
Aria swung off her pack and slumped to the ground. “So where are we then?”
“A little south of Sherman.”
She seemed to melt into the ground. “How much farther do we have to go?”
“Only forty miles or so. We’re way past halfway.”
She looked up. The moon’s soft light shown on her face. How could someone look so beautiful and so sad at the same time? “No, I mean tonight. How much farther do we have to go tonight?”
He extended his hand. “I don’t know, but for sure we need to cross the highway while it’s still dark.”
Aria let him pull her back to her feet and admired his muscles. She loved that about him, not only his physical strength, but also the strength of his character. She’d told him that she loved him, and he hadn’t got all stupid about it. Maybe she shouldn’t have added the hate part. Could be why he hadn’t acted much different after she said it.
She swung her pack back on. Her side hurt some, but not too bad. However, her legs burned and ached. Much worse than the gunshot wound, but at least she figured she’d lost that last five pounds that had been so hard. Not that anyone cared or had even noticed. Maybe in the new reality, everyone would be skinny.
Wow, what would she give for a strawberry shake and a cheeseburger?
But none of that mattered now. All that did was getting the kids to Jackson’s grandparents’ house so that she could go back with him to find his mother and take care of those bangers. If she never did anything else in her life, whatever it took, she would have her revenge on those scuzzbuckets who killed her brothers and Poppy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jackson kept his little army moving way past sunrise. The few houses that the high-lines ran close to seemed either asleep or abandoned, and he wasn’t in the mood to find any more rotting corpses. The chart said moonrise wasn’t until after eleven tonight, and was waning fast. Not a lot of light to travel by.
After several farm fields, the lines ran across a rather large stock pond surrounded by woods. Cooper stopped at the water’s edge and turned around. Jackson joined him and the others. He nodded toward the north shore where a clump of giant oaks grew. Without too much brush under them, they offered good cover near water.
“Let’s set camp over there. Seems like a good place to hang out for a while.”
Cooper dropped his pack. “Can we have a fire?”
“Sure.” Jackson wasn’t interested in gathering any wood though. Soon as he made it to the thicket, he rested the rifle against a tree and flopped down, more tired than he’d realized. He had covered at least twenty miles, maybe more that stretch. Was he just another day from Honey Grove? He swung off his pack, retrieved the map, and spread it out in front of him.
“So.” McKenzie scooted over next to him. “Where are we now?”
He touched where he figured he’d crossed Highway Fifty-six. “I’m thinking we were around here a bit before sunup.” He traced a line due east then touched the map again. “So we should be a little south of Bells, here.”
“Then how much farther is it to Meems’ and Pop’s then? It looks so close!”
“Twenty, twenty-five miles.”
“Can we do that tonight?”
“I don’t know. Al said moonrise isn’t until after eleven, and it’ll only be a sliver.”
She touched his arm then squeezed it. “Let’s keep going. It’s all country from here, so we can travel during the day some. We can rest once we get there.” She sat back and smiled. “You do know it’s been twelve days since we left home. I never believed it when you said we could make it in two weeks, but you were right.”
“Twelve, huh?” He folded the map then glanced around. She and Cooper and the dog for sure could make another twenty miles, but Aria and the nerd were spent. At this point, he’d never leave them behind. “No, we need to stay right here and get some rest.”
She glared at him, exhaled, then whispered. “Mean King.”
“Whatever. Let’s eat something.”
She gave him a you’re-not-the-boss-of-me look, but denied it voice. Instead, she pulled out a school-sized can of pork ’n beans and held it out. “Want me to heat these?”
“Sure. Those, and we’ll split one MRE.”
“But we’re so close, and we have plenty to get to Meems’. Why not three MREs?”
His dad claimed real men do not explain themselves. He gave her his don’t-ask look even though he didn’t feel like such a man at the moment. He didn’t want to be one either. He wanted to be a boy with more childhood to live.
“Oh fine, king!” She took the can opener to the beans and muttered something he couldn’t understand.
Cooper, who didn’t appear to be tired at all, dropped a big armload of deadfall. “McKenzie, don’t be such a brat.”
“Hey, little brother, don’t you think for one minute you can tell me what to do!”
“Y’all give it a break.” Jackson turned in time to see Boggs release his fair-sized stick on his little brother’s pile then sit down with his familiar grin that he loved so much. “Good boy.”
“That enough? There’s plenty if you want us to get more.”
“No, that should do it.” He retrieved his matches and soon had a small fire going. Nothing to brag about, but the meager meal had enough miles in it to get them to Honey Grove.
Cooper volunteered to take the first watch, and Jackson figured, with the dog by his side, it would be fine. Soon his little army had full bellies—well, if not full, at least not hungry—and sacked out. He told himself to keep an eye open, but soon floated on a sea of soda in a nacho-flavored Doritos boat.
The road runner raced across the sky with the ever present Wiley coyote on his heels.
Beep, beep!
Perfect.
For the longest, he wallowed in being a child again, and not the general to a band of rag tag survivalists. Then the soda sea vanished, and he stood on his feet moving forward.
The old man walked a bit ahead
. He stopped, turned around, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “She needs your help.”
The words sliced into his heart, but who was she? Jackson willed one eye then the other one open. The sun hung low in the west. Great. Now that old geezer plagued his dreams; he could almost taste the soda and corn chips.
“She needs your help. Now.”
The guy’s words rang in his mind’s ear. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the rifle. He looked around. Both girls slept soundly cuddled together, with Al a respectable distance away. Cooper leaned against a tree, sound asleep. The dog was gone.
“Now. She needs you now.” The words echoed in his soul.
Okay, he had to be dreaming that he was awake, so he’d go with it. You couldn’t get hurt in a dream, could you? He turned a full circle. Which way?
East. He needed to skirt the pool then get back under the high-lines. Okay. He headed out acutely aware of everything around him. Wow, he’d never been in a dream so real.
Well, that time he dreamed he was drowning and finally couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He grinned at the memory of being so glad to discover that he could breathe under water. What was he? Five then? But this one proved even more real. Maybe because it was a daydream.
With the water to his back and again on the King’s Highway, he searched the wooded boundary. Fifty paces or so ahead, Boggs burst out of the brush and loped toward him. He stopped right in front of him and barked once almost under his breath.
“What is it, boy?”
He fully expected the dog to answer, but instead, he growled real low then turned and raced ahead. Cutting back into the woods at the same spot he had come out, he disappeared then came right back out and looked at Jackson as if to ask, you coming?
This was too real. It couldn’t be a dream.
He picked up his pace to stay with the dog. The faster he ran, the harder his breath came. This wasn’t a dream at all. He was wide awake and following the Pyrenees toward who knew what?
Oh, yeah…a female in distress who needed his help? How absurd.
Boggs stopped just inside the far edge of the woods. Jackson joined him. Ahead maybe a quarter of a mile on the other side of a fair-sized pasture, an old white farmhouse with a couple of red outbuildings. The scene could have been a painting hanging on Meems’ wall. Clothes hung on the line out back and fluttered in the too-warm November breeze.
A man burst out the front door dragging a woman by her arm down the porch steps. She screamed something then the man shot her in the head.
He was too late. No one could help her now.
He bowed his head at the horrible sight of the coldblooded murder. Why had he been called to witness that?
Boggs growled real low, but didn’t move. Jackson wanted to charge the house, shoot the man dead, but that wouldn’t help anything. Another man stepped out holding a gun to a guy’s head. The fellow screamed, “No!” to the top of his lungs, ran toward the woman then fell to his knees over her body.
That second man hollered something to his partner then shot the guy.
A rumbling growl rolled in Boggs’ throat. The two men made several trips in and out loading stuff in a small wagon. Then the first guy took to pulling it while the other one pushed from the back.
Jackson watched until the men disappeared down the road heading west then stood to go.
She needs you.
“Who said that?” He spun full circle then studied the house. Neither of them moved—the lady nor who he figured had been her husband. He looked at the dog. “So who needs me?”
Boggs looked west then bolted toward the house.
The faintest of cries rode on the late afternoon breeze. Other than that, an eerie silence blanketed the once picture-perfect setting. Not even the birds made a sound. Then it dawned on him who she was. He grabbed hold of the top of a post and jumped over the barbed wire fence.
Racing to the house, he stepped around the still bodies of the young farmer and his wife. Jackson ran into the house and followed the sound to a small room at the end of the hall.
Running through the open door, he found Boggs sitting next to a crib where a baby cried its lungs out. He rested the rifle against a rocking chair and gently picked up the little one. She sucked a breath, cried a couple of little sobs, then laid her head on his shoulder with her small arms hugging his shoulder and chest.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” What was he saying? Nothing was okay. Not one thing.
He patted the baby on her back, just like he’d seen his mother do when Coop was a baby, and like all the other mothers he’d been around. What was he going to do with her? He certainly couldn’t put her back in her bed and leave her there. But what did babies eat? She would need milk, and lots of it, and bottles.
How was he going to feed her? Or was it a him? No, the old man had said she needed him. Had to be a girl. He scanned the room. A bag rested in the corner. He held her tight with one hand and picked up the bag with the other.
Setting the bag in the rocker, he started emptying it. Five diapers, half a can of powdered formula—thank goodness for that—an empty bottle, a change of clothes, some sort of bib thing, and some lotions and potions. He stuffed it all back inside and looked around her room.
A lot of pink assaulted his sensibilities. Little dresses hung in the closet. Definitely a girl. McKenzie would go apes. She loved babies so much. He laughed at the thought of how much she had wanted Coop to be all her baby when he was born. She’d argued with Mom when she was only like three or four.
Just as the setting sun touched the treetops on the far horizon, he reached the front door with the extra bag over one shoulder and the baby girl asleep on his other and stopped. Hopefully, he had everything he’d need. For sure, he did not need a baby, but neither did he need a genius nerd or a spoiled Latin beauty who thought she loved him.
Most of all though, he specifically did not need some old dead guy haunting his dreams—or awake day-mares—or whatever they were. What was up with the old guy and his whole deal? Maybe in a minute, Jackson would wake up, and the whole EMP flash and Russian invasion would really be a dream.
He snuggled the baby’s head into his shoulder and stepped out. Hopefully, she wouldn’t see her parents lying dead in the front yard. And over a wagonload of stuff...what a shame. The couple sure didn’t look like any dream. No, this was the new reality. Kill or be killed; dog eat dog, except he never planned on playing that game.
There must be a place where the rule of law still held, where good folks hadn’t turned into marauding savages.
At the barbed fence, he set the bag and his rifle on the other side, then managed to slither between the top wire, holding the second one down for more room. The wire snagged the back of his jacket, but he wiggled it free without waking the baby and slid on through. He retraced his steps back to the campsite.
Nothing had changed, except that Boggs lay beside his brother. Then again, everything had changed. He’d brought a baby girl. She snuggled into his chest and her little cheeks sucked air. She must be hungry and dreaming about having a bottle. He stared at her perfect miniature face and held her tighter as he eased down and rested against the big oak’s trunk.
McKenzie rolled over. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to get up, but her legs ached, and her all over soreness insisted she change positions. Lying on the hard ground was the complete pits. All sorts of things poked her in a hundred places. She rolled onto her back and sighed.
Oh Lord, let all this walking be over soon. She cracked one eye. Jackson leaned against the far tree holding a bundle against his chest. He looked at her then smiled.
What was he up to?
“Come look.”
“At what? Can’t you just tell me? I need to find the powder room.”
“Go on then. We’ll be here when you get back.”
When she returned, the fire had been rekindled, but her big brother still leaned against the tree holding his mysterious bundle.
He turned a bit and pulled back the blanket. The sweetest-looking baby she’d ever seen smiled up at her. “Oh, Jackson! You’ve got a baby! Where’d you get a baby?” She rushed to his side and knelt down beside him then held out her arms. “Give it to me.”
He eased the baby into her arms. “She’s a girl.”
“What’s her name?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Well, where’d you get her?”
He shrugged. “Really want to know?”
“Of course! Yes. Tell me.”
As the last of the day’s light faded, Jackson told her his story of dreams and murder and hearing a voice that led him to the baby crying in her crib. He ended what might have been a real whopper, except she held the proof right there in her arms. He leaned back and fell silent.
“You sure she’s a girl?”
“Well, no. I haven’t looked or anything, but she has to be a girl. Her whole room was pink and there were only dresses in her closet. Plus, the old man said she needed my help.”
“It’s a miracle for sure. You know, I think the old man is an angel.”
“Whatever.”
“That’s the only explanation, Jackson. How else can you explain any of it?”
“What about Cooper’s alien theory?”
“No. No way. It’s the Lord watching out for us, and this little one, too.” She looked at the cooing doll and tapped her chin. “And what are we going to call you, little sweet one. What’s your name?”
“I know you don’t think she’s going to tell you. We can call her Baby Girl.”
She shook her head in disbelief at him. “Duh, Jackson. That’s so original. Your imagination astounds me.”
“Well, I intend to try and catch a quick nap before we take off. There’s a can of formula in her diaper bag if she wakes up.”
