ALONE
Book 9:
A Stunning Betrayal
By Darrell Maloney
This is a work of fiction. All persons depicted in this book are fictional characters. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright 2017 by Darrell Maloney
This book is dedicated to:
My mother,
Frances E. Maloney,
who passed away on Sept 29, 2017.
We didn’t always see eye to eye.
But I always loved you.
Rest in Peace, Mom…
The Story Thus Far…
It was the only promise Dave Speer ever broke to his daughter.
And it was the fire which drove him.
“I don’t want you to stay here, Daddy. I’ll miss you. I want you to come with us.”
“Don’t worry, little Peanut,” he’d said as he kissed her on the head at the airport. “It’s only a week. It’ll fly by and we’ll see each other again in no time at all.”
“Do you promise, Daddy?”
“Of course I do, Peanut.”
Only it didn’t fly by.
And it was so much more than a week.
A burst of electromagnetic pulses struck the earth just after Beth landed in Kansas City with her mother and sister Lindsey. The airport went dark.
The whole world went dark.
Dave and Beth’s mother Sarah had been preppers for years. They had a good stockpile of food and supplies. A great security plan. A great bug-out plan. Backup plans for their backup plans.
They thought they had all the bases covered.
The one thing they didn’t plan for was the possibility they might be separated when the stuff finally hit the fan.
Sarah and the girls made their way to Aunt Karen and Uncle Tommy’s farm west of Kansas City just before it was overrun by a band of escaped prisoners from the military prison at Fort Leavenworth.
As for Dave… Dave was left alone at their home in San Antonio, a thousand miles away.
Dave’s biggest problem was psychological. He knew how to survive. He was a former Marine and the toughest man he knew.
But not knowing whether his family was alive or dead tormented him.
He set out to answer that question.
He made it to Karen and Tommy’s farm to find Tommy and all the other men had been massacred. Sarah and the other women had been turned into unwilling mistresses, the children into servants.
One by one, he took out the bad men and liberated the farm.
“I haven’t seen Beth. Tell me she isn’t dead.”
“I don’t know, honey. She was kidnapped months ago. By an old man and an old woman who said they were headed to Albuquerque.”
Dave left Sarah and Lindsey in the care of Karen’s neighbors, the Dykes brothers, who had a seemingly impenetrable bunker system protected by land mines.
But all preppers know no system is foolproof and no bunker is truly impenetrable.
There’s always a way in, if one looks hard enough.
A different group of marauders happens upon the bunker and wants it as their own.
They storm it and wipe out the Dykes brothers.
The women and children have survived, but have returned to a situation where they are slaves to very bad men.
Dave’s had his own tribulations. His journey to find Beth and bring her back has been fraught with one problem after another. He’s been severely wounded. Made and then lost friends.
Through his own carelessness he’s lost his most prized possession: his working vehicle, and nearly all his weapons with it.
Some men would have given up at that point. They’d have realized their quest was an impossible task.
Not Dave.
Dave would have walked barefoot through the fires of hell to get his daughter back.
And if it were a stipulation of her rescue, he’d have done so with a smile on his face.
In the last days of his journey to find Beth Dave had to resort to walking across the southern California desert on foot, then by bicycle.
But find her he did.
Or rather they found each other.
It turned out she wasn’t kidnapped at all. The old couple thought they were adopting her. And they were far from the brutal monsters Dave imagined them to be.
The woman was dead. Of natural causes, which was rare enough in the new world.
The old man, Sal, teamed up with Dave and Beth in a new journey. A journey to reunite Dave’s family once and for all.
And perhaps, given Sarah’s approval, to join the family himself.
We left off with Sarah, Karen and Lindsey struggling to survive a situation no woman should ever have to endure.
Each in their own way.
Each trying to manipulate brutal men to their own advantage.
Each trying desperately to figure out a way to escape the bunker, or to vanquish their captors.
And one of them, Sarah, playing with her own kind of fire.
Hundreds of miles away from the bunker, in Albuquerque, Dave was struggling with his own dilemma.
They were halfway through the city now, and had just encountered a major roadblock.
Literally.
They were up against men with a proud heritage who were staging a return to the old days.
Their ancestors had ruled the west once upon a time, before the white man came along and slaughtered many of them; then put the rest on reservations.
They didn’t like the term “Native Americans.” It was a term the white man had given them. They were proud of their heritage, and proudly called themselves Indians.
And they were taking Albuquerque back.
They’d already taken a section of the besieged city as their own. They’d already gathered over three hundred men, from a dozen native tribes, to join together in their efforts.
And word was they were gathering the horses and weapons they’d need to launch an all-out assault on the rest of the city.
Dave was warned of the Indian roadblock by the unlikeliest of sources.
A member of the notorious MS-13 gang, Luis Rivera, was a man who once threatened to kill Dave. He said he’d have Dave’s head cut off and turned into a dart board, “with your eyeballs as bull’s-eyes.”
The decapitation never happened.
And while the two never really became friends, they became uneasy allies.
So much so that Rivera suggested a way for Dave, Sal and Beth to break through the blockade and escape Albuquerque.
“The only way they’ll let you keep your horses is if you convince them they’re not worth stealing. You have to make them appear crippled so they won’t want them.”
Dave was leery at first. Even when Luis asked his friend Eddie if there was a way to make a sound horse appear lame and Eddie replied, “sure” he was hesitant.
But he honestly couldn’t see another option.
“I can pry one of their shoes up and place a small pebble beneath it,” Eddie suggested.
“The horse will favor that leg, and to someone who doesn’t know why he’ll appear to be lame. Especially if the people on the highway aren’t horse people.”
The scheme seemed to have merit. But Dave didn’t like it. The horses had been loyal servants and valuable tools. Almost trusted friends. It just wasn’t fair to them to repay their service by causing them pain.
But there honestly didn’t seem to be any other way. If they lost their horses the three of them would be left on foot with over seven hundred miles to go on their journey.
The last chapter ended when the trio was stopped by a rag-tag bunch of warriors who looked more like Chachi than Cochise.
Dave took a deep breath and prepare
d to try to bluff his way to safety.
And now… the 9th installment of Alone:
A Stunning Betrayal
Chapter 1
“Whoa there,” a mountain of a man said as Sal pulled the rig to a halt in front of their line.
He looked intimidating to be sure, but not necessarily because he looked the part of an Indian warrior.
His name was John Brown.
At least it had been a few days before.
That was before he took a new name.
A name his great-great grandfather might have been proud of.
A name that grandfather would have recognized as Apache.
John Brown was now known as Walking Bear.
Of course, his great-great grandfather, who was the original Walking Bear, might be confused as to John’s present-day attire.
He might have an objection to John’s designer blue jeans and sneakers.
Or maybe his choice of headgear.
A bright red ball cap with a Harley Davidson emblem.
Now, Harleys are fine motorcycles, to be sure. A source of deep American pride in their own right.
But to the original Walking Bear a man who rode anything other than a horse was no man at all.
John Brown had never been on a horse.
It was partly because of his size and lack of upper arm strength.
He wasn’t sure he could even mount one.
But he was indeed intimidating.
All three hundred pounds or so of him.
“Are you in charge here?” Dave asked.
“I am. My name is Walking Bear.”
Dave thought being friendly and courteous was his best tact. At least until that failed.
“I’m Dave. This is Sal and my daughter Beth. We’re headed to Kansas City to rejoin our family.”
“You can go,” John Brown said. “But we’ll have to keep your horses.”
“Why?”
John Brown, AKA Walking Bear, was caught short.
No one had questioned his authority before.
Of course, he was relatively new at this.
This was the first time he and his men had actually stopped anyone who had horses to surrender.
And he thought, quite honestly, whoever came along would just roll over and comply.
“Because… well, because we have our orders to keep any horses that come along.”
“I thought you were in charge.”
“I… I am.”
“Well, if you’re in charge how come you’ve been given orders to take horses from other people? Do you have a badge? A court order? Who exactly gave you orders, if you’re the one in charge?”
John Brown started to sweat a little. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, and assumed whatever came out of his mouth would be wrong.
For as intimidating as he looked, John Brown wasn’t at all a tough man.
Dave backed up just a bit, lest he make the big man cry.
“Look, my friend, I mean no offense. But these horses don’t belong to you and your men. They belong to us. We’re not just going to give them up on your say so. We want to know by what authority you want to take them.
“In other words, what gives you the legal right to do so?”
Now, John Brown wasn’t the sharpest man around. Despite the extra large proportions of his head, his brain wasn’t superior to anyone else’s in the crowd.
On his side of the line or the other.
“I… have my orders from the tribal council.”
“Who is the tribal council, exactly?”
“The tribal council is the tribal council, for crying out loud. It’s a group of men made up of the elders from each tribe. There are Mescaleros and Navajo and a couple of Chiricahua Apaches… some Zuni I think…”
“Where is this council, so I can speak to these men in person?”
“Well, they’re not here. They’re on the Res.”
“And which way is the Res?”
John Brown stammered as he pointed eastward.
“Well, it’s that way, a couple of miles.”
“If you’ll let us through, Mr. Walking Bear, we’ll talk to the council directly.”
The big man was on the ropes.
He was flailing, and in desperate need of support from his ranks.
And sure enough, another man stepped forward.
This one was considerably smaller.
He wore a buckskin vest with brightly colored beads. It looked like something which had come off the rack at a roadside souvenir stand.
No doubt the beads were plastic and the tag said, “Made in China.”
It was something he wore, no doubt, because in his mind that’s what a real Indian would wear into battle.
Dave sized him up perfectly when he assumed this guy was no smarter than the first.
And no more an Indian warrior either.
The little man’s chest was four shades lighter than his arms, belying the fact he seldom took his shirt off outdoors.
Dave imagined after a few more hours in the blazing sun he’d have a wicked sunburn.
But he wasn’t going to warn the man.
He was actually having fun.
For this situation was getting more and more preposterous by the minute.
The little man walked forward in an effort to help save his oversized friend.
“What’s the problem, John?”
Walking Bear spoke from the side of his mouth, as though Dave couldn’t hear every word he said.
“Damn it, Wally! If I told you once I’ve told you a hundred times. Call me Walking Bear.”
Dave had to suppress a chuckle.
An Indian warrior named Wally. Who’d have thought?
Chapter 2
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. So, what’s the problem, Walking Bear?”
“This man says he wants to talk to the council. He don’t wanna give up his horses.”
Wally looked directly at Dave. He squinted, since the sun was directly over Dave’s shoulder.
It made the little man in the store-bought Indian outfit look even more ludicrous.
“How come?”
Instead of answering, Dave had his own question.
“Are you a member of the council?”
“Well, no I ain’t. I’m Walking Bear’s helper.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Gray Wolf.”
“Gray Wolf, huh? So how come Walking Bear called you Wally?”
“Why do you want to talk to the council?”
“I want to tell them they can’t have our horses.”
Wally looked genuinely hurt. Like he took it personally that Dave had the gall to refuse their demands.
And he, like John Brown, was at a loss about what to do about it.
Dave had no way of knowing, but he was the only one in either group who’d actually killed in anger.
Of the so-called Indian braves lining the roadway in front of him none had been faced with man’s ultimate dilemma: whether to take a human life or have his own taken instead.
And although they all had pistols on their sides and rifles over their shoulders, none were prepared to shoot down anyone in cold blood.
“But… we have orders,” Wally stammered.
“I know,” Dave countered. “That’s what your big friend here said. But I call B.S.”
“What do you mean, you call B.S.? You can’t just call B.S. when we have orders. You’ve got to follow our orders.”
“Says who?”
“Well… says the council, that’s who.”
They were in the middle of what old-timers called a Mexican standoff. Neither side wanted to budge.
And neither side wanted to back down.
If this were a Hollywood movie the director would have cued someone into the scene at that very moment.
Perhaps fate was playing that role. For it was then that Sal looked up and saw a cloud of dust rising from a field to his right.
“Somebody’s coming,”
he said.
All heads turned to see a man on horseback riding hell-bent toward them.
He slowed when he got close to the pavement, showing Dave his mettle.
For only an experienced horseman would know a horse transitioning from dirt to asphalt at a fast clip would lose traction and almost certainly go down.
Dave was good at reading people.
He’d pegged both John Brown and Wally as rank amateurs from the beginning.
This man, though, was different.
This man was right out of central casting.
Not as a man of Native American heritage trying desperately to appear fierce.
But rather as a man who fit, rather than looked the part.
Mutt and Jeff both looked a bit relieved at the man’s arrival.
Yet at the same time Dave got the sense they were cowered just a bit.
Even Walking Bear, who cut an imposing figure just a few minutes earlier, seemed to wilt just a bit in the new man’s presence.
“I am Bold Eagle,” the man said with an air of authority. “What’s going on here?”
“He… he don’t want to give up his horses,” Wally explained.
Bold Eagle looked at Dave, as though to size up his adversary.
He gave no indication he was impressed.
Dave merely shrugged, confirming Wally’s assertion.
Bold Eagle stepped down from his pony and walked to Sal’s two-horse team.
“They’re injured,” Wally offered. “They both walk with a limp.”
John Brown leaned over to him and whispered, loud enough for Dave to hear, “Shut up. Let me talk. I’m supposed to be in charge.”
Dave offered to Bold Eagle, as though to support Wally’s statement, “We’ve come a long way. They’ve been through hell.”
The Indian grabbed the breast collar of the biggest horse and coaxed the team forward.
Sure enough, both horses walked with obvious pain, each one favoring one leg.
“How far have you come?”
“From Anchorage, Alaska,” Dave lied. “Right at three thousand miles.”
“And you drove them on pavement that far? That’s insane. And inhumane.”
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