Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star

by Nobody, Joe

  Sighing loudly, he reached back and gently shook Terri’s knee. She startled awake, her mother-eyes immediately searching for her child. Hunter was snoozing, snug in his car seat.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” she finally whispered. “Why are we stopped?”

  “There’s a town up ahead, and we can’t go around it. I need to go scout it on foot before we try and pass through.”

  “How far is it?”

  “About two miles, I think. I didn’t want to approach any closer. There’s no place to pull off this road and hide. I’m going to have to leave you here all exposed.”

  Terri rubbed her eyes, nodding her comprehension. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  Before long, Bishop was walking down the New Mexico highway with weapon and full kit. He’d decided to take the long-range AR10 rifle because its huge optic allowed for scouting at extended distances. He hated leaving his family and earthly possessions just sitting along the side of the road, but his confidence in Terri eased the concern – somewhat.

  The smooth road provided an easy walk, the only stress being the lack of cover provided by the surrounding desert. There wasn’t even a utility pole to hide behind should people appear. Not much chance of that at zero-dark-thirty, he thought.

  Like most small towns, the first sign of civilization he encountered was actually a sign. “Welcome to Crawford,” the green metal placard announced, “Population 341.”

  “Howdy,” Bishop replied, secretly hoping the fine people of Crawford were friendly, or at least still in their beds.

  He spied the first structures a short time later. The typical cluster of outbuildings, a gas station, small strip mall and a few homes. It all looked so tiny given the distance – like dollhouses and toys. Everything was completely dark in Candyland.

  The thermal imager showed a grand total of zero hot spots, but he was still too far away for the high-tech device to be trusted. Its range was limited unless the heat signature was large. The light amplification night vision showed no activity.

  “I’m just going to saunter into town like I own the place,” he whispered to himself.

  Keying the push-to-talk button on his radio, Bishop announced, “Heading into town now. Everything peachy back there?”

  The sleep in Terri’s voice carried through the earpiece, “Hunter’s having breakfast. Could you find a little less boring scenery the next time we stop?”

  “Someone’s not gotten enough sleep.”

  “I’m okay… just looking forward to a mattress.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Be careful, Bishop. I love you.”

  Dogs were the next concern. Canine alarms could awaken the drowsy residents of Crawford, and they might not appreciate having their beauty sleep interrupted by tourists.

  The first structure he passed was a house trailer. The mailbox indicated the address but didn’t advertise the resident’s name. There were children’s toys scattered around the yard, an old Buick sitting in the driveway. Bishop scanned the area with the thermal – no heat.

  That didn’t necessarily mean the home was empty. Forward-Looking Infrared devices weren’t magic. They couldn’t see through glass or walls. Still, if the mobile home had been occupied, he would have expected some temperature variation.

  He continued toward town, the density of buildings increasing as he progressed. The gas station was intact; signs posted on the pumps indicated, “No Gas.”

  The three stores in the strip mall appeared untouched, as well. This struck Bishop as odd, given every commercial building he’d seen elsewhere had been looted. Perhaps the residents of Crawford were calm rioters, he mused.

  He walked up and gazed inside the dry cleaners. The counter, cash register and reception area looked normal, ready to open for business at the advertised hour of 7 a.m. Strolling down the short sidewalk, he checked the “Everything’s a Dollar,” outlet and again found the business mostly intact. The night vision revealed sections of empty shelving, but the wrapping paper, greeting cards and keychain display all appeared untouched. The food and batteries are all gone, he considered. But it was orderly.

  The final business in the tiny outlet was “Morton’s Doughnuts.”

  “Here we go,” Bishop whispered. “Terri would be thrilled with a dozen chocolate frosted and a steaming cup of coffee.”

  Bishop polished a small circle of dust off the window, looking inside at four booths, a retail counter, and glass display case that was empty. Morton’s was undisturbed, even the cash register was where it should be – resting peacefully on the counter.

  A rustle sounded behind him. Spinning and raising his rifle in the same motion, Bishop scanned the empty parking lot. Nothing. There wasn’t any breeze, and even the birds weren’t up yet. Probably a mouse, he decided.

  The next stop on his tour was a trucking company, several dump trucks, semis and other machinery residing in the back lot. The small concrete block offices appeared unmolested. It was as if the body snatchers descended in the middle of the night and peacefully fed on the local population. No people and a town in pristine condition… now that is something you just don’t see every day, he mused.

  Finally, the local church came into view, the sign out front announcing services began at 9 a.m. Bishop found the doors locked, the parking lot empty. As he scouted around the structure, he was impressed at the size of the compound. Texas was known for its huge houses of worship, some of the organizations in Houston drawing over 10,000 worshipers on Sunday morning. Others were almost a small city unto themselves.

  This facility would have been right at home with its big city cousins, and that seemed out of place. Crawford just wasn’t that large, and there definitely wasn’t the surrounding population to support such a monolith operation.

  With a shrug of his shoulders, Bishop returned to the problem at hand – passing through town without being noticed.

  On the far edge of the village, at the intersection of the last little street, he experienced an “Ah ha!” moment. There was fresh dirt strewn across the pavement, obvious evidence that someone had been recently digging in the soil bordering the sidewalk.

  Bishop slowed his pace, creeping closer to what appeared to be a significant excavation. Movement caused him to freeze mid-stride, the 7.62 mm rifle snapping to his shoulder. There was more activity as Bishop flicked off the weapon’s safety, ready to spray lead if a threat appeared.

  A small furry head appeared, its neck mimicking Bishop’s, swiveling right and left. When the prairie dog’s eyes focused on the human intruder, it barked twice and disappeared down into what was quite a large town of burrows, tunnels, and dens.

  Bishop exhaled, chiding himself for being so edgy. There was one benefit to the encounter however – the spoil-dirt surrounding dog-town was completely void of track or sign. No cars had passed; no human footprints were visible. He pressed on.

  Before he knew it, he reached the far side of town. The post office, a small general store, and a café were the only other businesses – all of them looking like the proprietor had closed the previous night without incident or issue.

  He stopped walking when he reached the cemetery on the far outskirts. The tombstones reminded him of the awful incident when Deke had been killed. He shuddered at the memory and took special care to scan the plots. Several unmarked graves were present, but none were fresh.

  The houses appeared equally undisturbed. If Bishop didn’t know better, it would be easy to visualize himself standing on the main drag of what appeared to be a pre-collapse town. He could almost smell the aroma of fresh coffee brewing to coax the sleepy residents out of bed and begin their daily routines.

  But there were a few clues that something wasn’t right about that picture.

  The first thing he noticed was the lack of garbage. Every other town he’d visited since the collapse had piles of trash bags in front of the homes. Meraton had been the only exception - until now.

  The second oddity was the lack of foot tr
affic. There was a wood plank sidewalk in front of the café. A layer of dust and sand had collected there for an extended period of time – undisturbed. No one had walked down that portion of the town’s sidewalk for months.

  Another indicator was the cobwebs. The post office threshold was thick with the silky threads, as was the doorknob to the general store. It was just spooky. He’d even brushed away a strand while walking down one of the side streets. No one had passed through that section of Crawford for some time.

  He hadn’t detected a single heat source in any of the homes. There weren’t any cats or dogs on the prowl. It was as if all the people had simply vanished.

  Every window was filthy with windblown sand and grime. There weren’t any bones, human or otherwise, lying around. There wasn’t a hint of wood smoke, or any other odor for that matter. It was as if the people of Crawford had been sucked up by some alien space craft.

  Bishop became so involved in solving the mystery, he lost track of time. The pre-dawn glow of the sun in the eastern sky reminded him of the hour and caused him to utter a string of curses. “Damn it,” he whispered, “I wanted to be past this place before the sun came up.”

  Reaching for the radio, he keyed the button. “This community is just off-the-scale weird. There’s no one here. It’s kind of ghoulish in a way.”

  “Are they all dead?” Terri responded after a pause.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve not seen a single bone or body. I don’t think anyone has been here for months. It’s like they all vanished into thin air or something.”

  “The whole town?”

  “So far. Go ahead and bring the truck up. I’m going to keep poking around. Park at the doughnut shop. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Doughnuts?”

  “Sorry, babe – it’s closed.”

  He could hear Terri’s chuckle through his earpiece. “See ya in a minute.”

  Bishop meandered back across town, pausing often to listen, almost hoping he would recognize some sign of human life. Nothing, not a cough, shuffle or whisper. The berg was dead – a complete ghost town.

  Terri had already arrived by the time he made it back to the strip mall. Hunter was wide-awake, playing with his mom’s rifle sling as she carried him around the truck to stretch her legs. Relief lined her face when she spotted her husband walking onto the lot.

  “Nothing,” he announced. “I don’t think anyone lives here anymore.”

  “I can’t believe everyone would be dead in a town this size. There would have to be a few survivors.”

  “I agree, but so far they are staying out of sight. I’m thinking we cool our jets right here for a bit, maybe a couple of hours. If no one shows by then, this might be a good place to camp for the day. I know I need some shuteye, and I bet you could use a little rest, too.”

  Terri scanned the horizon, a grin crossing her face. “Is there any shopping? Any four-star restaurants?” she teased.

  “Not that I noticed, but we can explore again after some rest. Let’s pull the trailer to the back of this building. If we don’t see or hear any activity in a few hours, I’ll set up the camper, and you can catch some Zs.”

  The magic hour of 10 a.m. came and went. Bishop and Terri spent the time lounging around the truck, playing with Hunter and snacking on breakfast. Every so often, Bishop would pause mid-sentence or hold up his hand for Terri to stop speaking. He would listen intently for a bit, eventually blaming a bird or other animal for whatever noise had reached his ear.

  Glancing at his watch, Bishop announced, “I think I need to go walk the town again. I’d feel better about sleeping here if we knew the place was truly deserted.”

  “I’m going to go with you,” his wife indicated. “I’m sick of the truck and curious as hell. I’ll put Hunter in the sling, and we’ll tag along.”

  “Terri… I don’t know about that. I know you can take care of yourself, but Hunter would be exposed…”

  “I know that, but given the state of the world right now, he’s going to be exposed a lot. We can’t pussy foot around just because we have a baby.”

  Bishop didn’t like the idea one bit, his expression indicating he was willing to debate the subject with her.

  “Besides,” Terri continued, “Most people won’t shoot a baby. If you approach someone by yourself, with all that body armor and ammo hanging off your chest, they might plug you on sight. With your son and me along, we look more like a family on a daytrip. By yourself, you might be mistaken for the invasion of Attila the Hun.”

  “Still, I’m not comfortable with…”

  She interrupted again, “Two sets of eyes and two rifles are better than one. We both know it.”

  “Terri, I…”

  Her hands landed squarely on her hips and her eyebrows raised. “Look, do you really think I’m that much safer here by the truck? If someone did spot it, don’t you think he would be curious and approach? I don’t see it as any more risky walking along than sitting here like a big, fat target.”

  “Oh babe, you’re not fat,” Bishop stated, trying to change the subject.

  Terri’s eyes smiled, but still she shook her head at her mate, “Flattery will get you nowhere, young man. Besides, you know that’s not what I meant. Hunter and I will be better off if we stay near you.”

  And so the couple headed back to town, Bishop giving up on the argument, conceding his wife’s points. Terri, carrying her rifle and wearing her own Kevlar vest, cooed at Hunter. “We get to go exploring with daddy.”

  Bishop wanted to check on a few of the houses. After repeating his excursion of downtown and finding nothing had changed, the trio proceeded along one of the residential side streets.

  “There are a lot of empty driveways,” Terri observed. “Did everyone hop in the car and bug-out when the food ran low?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Bishop said, “No way to know. I’m telling you though, this is goose-bump strange. When do the zombies figure out we’re here and attack from the shadows?”

  “Go and knock on one of the doors. Maybe everyone is hiding like in Alpha. Maybe there’s some gang of outlaws controlling the town,” she suggested, only half teasing.

  Nodding his agreement, Bishop swung his rifle around to his back and strolled slowly up to one of the more promising residences. He rapped loudly on the door and then moved back several steps.

  There was no answer.

  He repeated the knocking, this time shouting out, “We mean you no harm. We’re lost and need help.”

  Again, there was no answer.

  Feeling bold, Bishop moved to the edge of the porch, glancing into a window. He spied a tidy living room, furnished with a television, coffee table, sofa, and recliner. There was a water tumbler, complete with coaster, sitting on the table. Through the sheer drapes, he couldn’t see much more than that.

  He returned to the front door, stepping to the side and trying the knob. The door was locked.

  “Do you want me to kick it in?” he asked his wife.

  “No, of course not. Let’s try another house.”

  A similar scene was repeated at the next couple of residences. “Maybe the home team is playing in the local World Series of Baseball,” Terri suggested.

  “Let’s take a look at some of the backyards,” Bishop suggested. Maybe it’s too hot here without air conditioning… maybe people are living outside.”

  The first two residences revealed no surprises. The couple found the typical picnic tables, BBQ grills and children’s toys. At the third home, Bishop sauntered up to try the back door and found it unlocked.

  He glanced at Terri, flashing an expression of “Should I?”

  She nodded, whispering, “Maybe they left a note.”

  Bishop opened the door and stepped back, wary of a frightened resident cutting loose with a shotgun or other firearm. When nothing happened, he stuck his head around the corner and yelled, “Hello! Hello inside. I mean no harm. I’m coming in. Please don’t shoot me.”

  T
here was no answer.

  Bishop hesitated, looking up at Terri as if he didn’t want to go inside. Finally, he told her why. “If these people were starving to death, they would probably end up spending their last few days in bed. I don’t want to walk in and find Jack and Jill’s skeletons lying under their comforter.”

  “You’ve seen a lot worse, babe.”

  “I know, I know. But there’s something creepy about people dying in their own beds. It’s as if I would be disturbing a grave or something. It’s a memory I can do without.”

  “Do you want me to go in and check?”

  Bishop hesitated at the question, sorely tempted to call her bluff. The same reasoning he had used back at Perilous Falls came rushing into his frontal lobe. Finally sucking it up, he shook his head no and then passed through the threshold. He found himself in a laundry room, complete with washer and dryer, a makeshift clothesline and a shelf lined with detergents and fabric softeners. Everything was covered with a fine coating of dust.

  A swinging door led to the kitchen, which he found neat as a pin. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, and the table was clear with the exception of more dust. There was already a scowl on his face as he reached for the refrigerator door, his nose crinkling in anticipation of finding maggot-ridden shelves of rotted food inside. The interior was completely empty and smelled of bleach.

  He then moved to the pantry and found not a crumb of food. A quick search of the nearby cabinets confirmed his suspicion – there wasn’t a morsel of nourishment anywhere.

  Room by room Bishop cleared the first floor of the house. It was exhausting, stressful work. Not only did he anticipate finding the owners in the next room, he wasn’t exactly sure if he would bumble onto skeletons or find himself looking into the barrel of a shotgun. Given the town reminded him of a horror movie backdrop, he supposed it could be both.

  Now that would scare me shitless, he mused. Walking into the living room and finding Fred and Wilma Barebones waiting with a scattergun. Where do you shoot a skeleton to take it down?