by JEFF MOTES
“Lizzy, move behind the pump jack, now!”
My AR is at the ready, the safety switched off, when they stop and dismount. If this becomes a shooting match, it’s going to go badly for me. There are three of them, each armed with an AR. They approach with their rifles at the ready. The lead guy is older than the other two, maybe a little older than me. They stop about thirty feet away.
The older guy says, “John? John Carter? What the hell are you doing down here?”
I recognize him now. It’s Kenny, a pumper for the oilfield, though it’s been years since I’ve seen him.
“Retrieving a stolen package.”
“A stolen package?” He glances over at Lizzy. “I see. Where is the other guy?”
I nod toward the dirt pile covering Clyde’s body.
“I didn’t know that loader was still working,” Kenny says. “Thanks.”
My hand remains on the grip of my AR.
“Kenny, you still like motorcycles? I’ll trade you the Harley back there for two bottles of water.”
Kenny starts to laugh.
One of the younger guys behind him says, “I think we’ll have us two motorcycles.”
Kenny whips around and backhands him across the face. “Shut your freaking mouth! Go get two bottles of water and give them to the man!”
The young man heads to the 4-wheelers.
“Don’t mind him, John. He’s been raised in the city and has city manners, but I’ll get those worked out.”
The guy returns and holds out the bottles. His face is red from the force of the slap. I take one of the bottles with my left hand and call for Lizzy. She comes to my side, and I hand it to her. I take the second bottle with my left hand and pass it back to Lizzy as well.
“Lizzy, open me a bottle please.”
My right hand remains on the grip of the AR the whole time. I take a pull on the water bottle. It’s from a well around here, no doubt.
“Hot dang,” Kenny says. “A Harley for two bottles of water. I think I made me a deal.”
“Yeah, you did, especially considering I was leaving the Harley regardless.”
He laughs. “Boy, go get them two more bottles of water. John, you’re going to have to drink them here. Got to keep the empties. They aren’t making them anymore.”
“How are things, Kenny?”
“Probably about like they are for you. Not good. We’re managing, though. We’ve planted some gardens. The animals eat a lot of it, and we eat a lot of them. How about you guys?”
“About the same. Getting by. Had a little biker gang problem, but I’m hoping this is the end of it.”
“Maybe so. Listen, don’t be going off the main road. We have a few groups of crazies around here. If you go on their property, they will shoot you without asking questions. It’s happened several times. We have an agreement with them. They leave us alone, and we leave them alone.”
I finish drinking the second bottle, and Lizzy and I hand the bottles to the red-faced guy.
“Thanks, Kenny. We’re going to be leaving now.”
“Thanks for the bike.”
I mount the bike, and Lizzy climbs on behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. I start the bike, and only then do I set the safety and remove my hand from the AR.
“Lizzy, I have some food at Tom Hickman’s camp. We’ll stop there before I take you home. Maybe everybody will still be there.”
“Okay, Mr. Carter. Thank you for what you’ve done for me.”
Giving the bike more fuel, we head up the dusty oilfield road.
Chapter 66
John
Want to Trade Sandwiches?
Day 13
It takes nearly an hour to get to Tom Hickman’s cabin. I didn’t want to drive too fast coming out. The urgency wasn’t there, and I certainly didn’t want to risk injury to Lizzy. At the Hickman cabin, I scan around. I don’t see anybody alive. There are numerous dead bodies, mostly around the front of the house. All belong to the bikers except one. The motorcycles are still where they were parked, as is the yellow Jeep.
My first priority is my day pack. There are four more AR magazines inside it as well as a full MRE, two bottles of water, several energy and snack bars, water flavoring, toilet paper, and a few other things. I park the bike close to where I remember dropping it before the assault.
“Lizzy, stay with the bike. I need to locate my pack.”
I find it near the roots of the old tree I used for cover. I exchange the partial magazine in my AR for a full one, then return to Lizzy.
“You hungry?”
“Yes, I am actually.”
Inside the MRE pack is a beef patty, wheat bread, baked beans, snack cake, grape drink mix, and a few other things.
“How about a hamburger?” I ask. “It’s going to be cold, though.”
Lizzy smiles. “That would be nice.”
I pull out the toilet paper. “Need this?”
Her face turns red. “No, but I do have to tinkle.”
I chuckle. “Pick a tree.”
When she returns, I open the packs and make her a sandwich.
“It’s not quite like grilling, but it’s probably pretty tasty.”
I fix a bottle of water with some of the flavoring from my pack and give it to her as well.
“Thanks. It is good. Maybe because I’m so hungry. We didn’t have much to eat this morning. We were going to eat at the Hickmans’, but the bikers showed up before we could. Mr. Carter, thank you for coming for me. My mother always said you were a good man. She said since you were, maybe Will would be, too. Will didn’t leave me, either. I should have listened to him and left when he first came, even when Mr. Wright didn’t want us to. We were going to leave the other day, but Mr. Wright chained us up and wouldn’t let us leave. Still, despite everything we’ve been through, I think we were meant to be here.”
I marvel at the level of maturity and composure of this girl. She’s just like her mother.
“Where do you think everybody went?” she asks. “Why didn’t they wait here for us?”
“I’m not sure, Lizzy. I know Tom was injured pretty bad. They probably took him to the ER in Jackson. Since they didn’t know which way we went, they may have gone home to wait for us. It’s really all speculation, though. My radio is shot, literally, so I can’t call them.”
While Lizzy eats her sandwich, I open the beans and eat them cold. I prefer VanCamp beans, but I’m hungry too, so anything would taste good.
“Where have you been, Mr. Carter?” Lizzy asks. “Will said you were in Leeds when the EMP hit, wherever that is.”
“I was. It took a while, but I made it home last night.”
Lizzy looks far off into the distance. “My mom was up around Birmingham. I haven’t heard from her. Is it safe up there? Do you think my mom is okay?”
My mind flashes back through the past two weeks. How do I explain the trials and struggles? How do I explain the loyalty and love? I can’t. I study this girl. She is very pretty and very composed, like a younger version of her mother. Will is a fortunate young man.
“I’ve known your mother for a long time. She is a determined and resourceful woman. I’m sure she will find a way to reunite with you soon. I feel sure she is safe. Don’t worry, Lizzy. I’ll help you find her.”
She looks at me with misty eyes. “Really, Mr. Carter? Will said you would help. Do you really think my mother is okay?”
“Yes, I do, Lizzy. I think she is doing fine.”
It’s a few moments before she speaks. “Mr. Carter, thanks for believing in my mom.”
I drive the bike over to the Jeep. Both back tires are flat, and there’s only one spare. The Jeep and all the bikes are valuable items. I hate to leave them, but I don’t have a choice. I’ll get some of the guys and come back later. I check the Jeep for keys and find none. I pull all eleven of the keys from the bikes and put them in my pack except for one. It belongs to a bike nearly as nice as the one Clyde was driving. I put that key i
n my left pants pocket. I have a special purpose for that one. It would be better to push the bikes behind the house, but I’m hurting too much to do it. Hopefully, they’ll still be here when we return.
“Lizzy, you ready to go home?”
She smiles. “Yes sir, I am.”
She climbs behind me on the bike, and we head out to the Choctaw Bluff Road. At the road, I pause, trying to decide which way to go. To the right is the way we came. It’ll take us through Alma, Walker Springs, Maubila and then through Toddtown and on to Repose. To the left takes us on into Carlton, Rockville, and then Jackson. From Jackson, we can either go up AL69 to Bethlehem Road like we did last night or back out to Toddtown Road. If we don’t get turned away at Jackson, Carlton Road is going to save us a lot of time and miles, and the road is going to be mostly paved. Thinking about the roughness of Maubila Road and my hurting back and ribs, the decision is easy. We’ll go through Jackson. I hope the pass Ben gave me works.
About halfway to Jackson, we come across a gathering of people at the Baptist church. I see a few faces I recognize. Mrs. Ballen flags us down.
“John Carter? I almost didn’t recognize you with all that army stuff on. Park your bike and come join us. We’re having a social and a trader’s market today.” She adds with a smile, “That doesn’t look like Will behind you.”
I glance over my shoulder. Lizzy’s face has turned red again. Jill’s would do that, too.
“No, she’s a lot more purty than Will. This young lady is Lizzy Barnes, Jill Barnes’ daughter. Lizzy, this is Mrs. Linda Ballen.”
There are lots of friendly faces around and lots of somber ones as well. All the men and most of the women are armed, either with rifles or pistols. Some have both. Mrs. Ballen has a Taurus Judge on her hip.
“I appreciate the offer, ma’am, but we really need to get home. I may be passing this way again soon. If I do, I’ll stop by your place for a short visit.”
“That will be just fine, John. Anytime. I still have plenty of tea. Mr. Ballen likes his tea, and he made sure we had plenty stocked up, though we have no way to make ice.”
We continue on to town. All along the way, people are converting their overly large yards into gardens. Some are even using the road right-of-way for garden spots. The tables set up in the church parking lot are filled with various items. The close-knit nature of small communities is going to become prominent again as neighbors become more involved with each other’s lives. If allowed to live in peace, these people are going to make it. I feel sure of it.
We come to the bridge and the Jackson checkpoint. The checkpoint is on the Jackson side of the first bridge, a great location to bottleneck traffic. I doubt there will be much trouble coming from this direction. Then again, I couldn’t have imagined a biker gang in Choctaw Bluff, either. There are two men manning the checkpoint and several others further toward Jackson. The guy in front is a police officer; the other is dressed in civilian clothes. The officer, who I don’t recognize, holds out his hand with his palm facing us.
“Halt. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
I comply with his command, and he comes closer, looking us over pretty good.
“Please state your name and the nature of your business. Please keep both hands visible at all times.”
“No problem, officer. My name is John Carter. I live in Repose. This is Lizzy Barnes. She lives on Parker Street. I’m trying to take her home.”
“Do you have any ID?”
“I do. It’s in my billfold in my back pocket. Would you like for me to retrieve it?”
“No, I don’t guess it’s necessary. You already told me you are not a resident of Jackson. I can’t allow you in with your weapons. You can leave them here and pick them up on your return, you can tell me where you want to exit town and they will be sent there by sometime tomorrow morning, or you can turn around and go back the way you came.”
I flinch, thinking about having to take Maubila Road. My back and ribs are hurting bad. The four ibuprofen I took at the Hickman cabin have not kicked in yet. Then I remember the pass.
“Officer, I would like to retrieve something from my pocket, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, but move very slowly.”
I pull my billfold from my back pocket, retrieve the pass Ben Hunt gave me, and hold it out to him. “Will this work?”
He glances at it for a few moments and gives it back. “Yes sir, it will work fine. Have a nice day.”
He motions for the barricade to be lifted, and I drive through. The guys on the Jackson PD have always been professional. Well, except for the one bad apple.
I’m not sure how downtown will be, so I go north on Industrial Road since there are fewer houses. At US43, I turn south and go up AL69, the same way Jill and I took last night.
When I go south on US43, Lizzy asks, “Are we not going by my house?”
“Your grandmother is at my dad’s house. That’s where I’m going to take you. I think she packed up most of your things and brought them with her. If not, we’ll come back. Will should be there, too.”
“How will my mother know where to find me when she comes back?”
“Your grandmother said she left a message taped to the secret spot y’all use.”
“Okay. Will and I were planning on going to your house. It’s good if my grandmother is already there.”
“Lizzy, Will is a fine young man.”
“Yes, I know. Mr. Carter, I love him.”
We turn north on AL69 without incident, and we’re traveling at almost pre-The Day speeds. We stop for the checkpoint on Stave Creek Hill, and an officer waves us through. Last night while Jill and I traveled in the dark, I couldn’t see what kinds of activities were going on in the area. Here, along AL69, it appears a lot like Rockville. Folks are converting yards into gardens. There are a few older tractors at work and armed men standing guard. Those guys with working tractors are going to be in high demand. As long as their fuel holds out, they should prosper more than most. We pass a couple of 4-wheelers heading toward Jackson; they continue on their way without slowing. We reach Bethlehem Road in about ten minutes, much quicker than Jill and I did last night. This dirt road is in much better condition than Maubila Road. I whisper a prayer of thanksgiving.
On the paved portion, we pass by a guy standing close to the road, puffing on a cigar. I wonder if he’s afraid of panthers. I laugh on the inside, then reprimand myself for my stupidity last night. I wonder if he realizes the new value of the cigar he’s smoking? Cigarettes and all forms of tobacco are going to become very valuable. I’ve never seen tobacco growing in these parts, but there is plenty of marijuana growing in hidden patches. Those left-handed cigarettes are going to become the new tobacco.
Approaching the Nevada checkpoint, I drop my speed. My radio was destroyed, and I’m unable to contact them. The last thing I want to happen is to be mistaken for a biker gang member and get shot. Rifles are pointed in our direction, and when we get close, the men lower their rifles and let out a hoot.
Ray Tucker steps out. “John, there are going to be some happy people at your dad’s place. Mike is putting a team together to go back out with Ryan to search for you.”
“Lizzy and I decided to take the scenic route home. Call Mike, let him know I’m here, but don’t call my dad. I’m going to surprise them.”
“Yes, you are,” Ray says. “Really good to see you, John.”
“You too, Ray. We’ve got to get together and catch up soon. See you later.”
We drive up to Dad’s and park on the pad. Dad’s truck, along with Ryan’s, are parked near the garage. Jill’s ATV is close to the porch.
I’m a little surprised no one has come running out. I check my watch: It’s 2:15. They must be inside talking or something. I dismount and help Lizzy off the bike.
“Lizzy, let me help you take the body armor off. Don’t think it’ll be necessary around here.”
“Yes, please, it’s heavy.” Once it’s off, she hugs me
again. “I’ll never forget what you did for me today, Mr. Carter.”
My eyes are beginning to water thinking of Jill and Lizzy seeing each other for the first time since before The Day.
“Lizzy, you don’t know how good it is to see you and to have you safely here.”
I hold her at arms’ length and look in her eyes. “Lizzy, your mother is inside. She’s waiting for you.”
Her eyes grow wide in disbelief. “My mother? My mother is here?”
“Yes, I brought her home last night. She is in there waiting for you right now. Your grandmother and Will are, too.”
Tears start flowing from her eyes. She squeezes me again, then fans her face. “Oh…Oh…Oh, Mr. Carter! Thank you! Thank you!”
She releases me and runs for the door. Timidly, she opens the door a little, then all the way. Jill’s screams come through the door when Lizzy runs in.
I remain at the bike. I have managed to bring Jill and our children home safely. With God’s providence, I was able to keep my word, although the price has been heavy. I have become something I never wanted to be: a killer.
I look at my hands. How can anyone want to be touched by them? These hands once were so caring and are now those of a killer. Scenes start flashing through my mind: the guy stealing my bike, Clyde’s hand gripping my shirt. His words echo. “Want to trade sandwiches?”
The flashes are constant. I close my eyes, but they only get worse. When I bought my guns and took the training classes, I had no intention of becoming a killer, yet I trained every week to learn to be one. That’s what I am. A killer.
How can Jill possibly want to be with me now after the things I’ve done? How can I even think of caressing her with the hands of a…of a killer?
I had to become what I am for the sake of those I love. But now I feel as though I can’t even love myself.
“Want to trade sandwiches?”
It’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I pick up my rifle and stare at it. I want to throw it as far away as possible. I never want to see it again.
“Want to trade sandwiches?”
