by Nobody, Joe
Forcing his mind to refocus, he continued clearing the home, hoping he wouldn’t have to shoot anybody – dead or alive.
Clearly, the folks who lived here were tidy at minimum, perhaps a little OCD. There weren’t any toothpaste stains in the sink; magazines were stacked neatly in their place. A beautiful antique, upright piano adorned one wall of the living room. The corner of the dining room sported a heritage-quality china cabinet, ornate patterns of plates and bowls visible through the glass panes.
As he turned, the sunlight hit the floor just right, and he saw footprints in the dust. Most of them appeared to be his boots, but one set was clearly much smaller and undisturbed by his exploring. He followed them to a small end table where they seemed to stop.
There on the surface, again illuminated by the sun, was the narrow rectangular outline where something had been sitting for a long time before being moved. He looked around, rubbing his chin in puzzlement. That would be where most people would put a picture, he finally realized. Someone came in here and removed a framed photograph or piece of art. Why?
He returned to the back door, finding Terri sitting in a lawn chair and cuddling Hunter. “First floor is clear,” he reported. “I’m heading upstairs now.”
She winked before asking, “Are the bedrooms up there?”
“Yes.”
Bishop waited on the innuendo that was sure to come, but his wife thought better of it. “Be careful,” was her only reply.
The stairs creaked, despite his slow ascent. If bushwhackers were hiding up there, they had plenty of warning he was on his way. The first room he checked was being used for storage. Boxes, hand-labeled with phrases like, “Christmas decorations,” and “Photo albums,” were stacked along one wall.
The next doorway led to the upstairs bath. Again, everything was pristine, sans the coating of dust. He opened the medicine cabinet, discovering it was completely bare. “They bugged out,” he whispered. “We took every bit of medical supplies and food when we left Houston. They did the exact same thing.”
His level of apprehension was much lower as he entered the master. He found the bed neatly made and absent any bones. He checked the his-and-her closets, finding an assortment of empty hangers. “They packed up and headed out,” he mumbled.
Much relieved, Bishop bounded down the stairs and made for the back door. Terri glanced up, glad to see her husband had survived the adventure.
“Looks like they bugged out,” he reported. “There’s zero food or medicine inside. The toilet paper holders are empty, and I couldn’t find any suitcases. I’d say they headed for the hills.”
“That explains it then,” she replied.
“The whole town?” Bishop was skeptical. “We couldn’t get our little street to agree on anything back in Houston. I can’t believe the whole town packed up and left together.”
Terri nodded her agreement. “What do we do now? Search all the houses?”
“No,” he grunted. “I don’t want to do that. I need some sleep. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s head back to the truck.”
Crawford was just as eerily quiet on their return trip, the only sound being a slight breeze blowing a sheet of paper down the deserted street and distant birds chirping their morning songs. Bishop pulled the camper behind the little strip mall and unhooked the hitch. “Let’s take a quick driving tour,” he suggested.
With Terri holding Hunter in the back seat, he drove the short distance and stopped right in the middle of the business district. He revved the engine several times, honked the horn repeatedly, and then turned off the motor to wait and listen. No one came.
He repeated the process three more times, moving through the residential sections on both sides of the main road. Again, no response.
“You know how in a scary movie the stereotypical dumb blonde keeps roaming through the zombie-infested house… exploring from room to room without regard for her own safety?” Terri asked. “How she is oblivious to all the clues and warning signs that danger is right around the corner? You want to scream at her, ‘He’s behind that door. Get out of there! RUN!’”
“Which one of us is supposed to be the dumb blonde in this analogy?” Bishop queried. Frustrated and confused, he shook his head. “I can’t believe that we have stumbled on a modern-day ghost town, but I’m too tired to worry about it anymore. Let’s get the camper set up. I’ve got to sleep.”
Forty minutes later, the pop-top was extended, and the couple set about making a quick lunch. Bishop played with Hunter, bouncing the contented lad on his knee while Terri prepared the meal.
After wolfing down the hot food, Bishop was toast. He managed to wash the dishes before announcing, “Wake me up in two hours, please.”
“Okay. Hunter and I will be around. I’m going to stay close, but outside. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us.”
“Smart girl,” he grinned, leaning over to kiss her forehead. Hunter received a peck as well.
Terri heard Bishop’s snoring even before she could put away the clean pots and silverware.
Alexandra Military Zone, Virginia
July 30
“Our activities in West Texas are drawing more scrutiny than originally anticipated,” Mr. White began, casually glancing up as a Humvee full of soldiers passed by.
Eris was troubled, “This is highly unusual, sir. This meeting is outside of established protocol. Didn’t we execute the original mission per instructions?”
White’s temper flashed for just a moment - the last thing he needed right now was to have some knuckle-dragger getting uppity over a perceived fuck-up. He managed to control the outburst, his restraint assisted by a passing convoy of noisy construction vehicles, trucks, and busses full of tradesmen on their way into Washington proper. Alexandra was the staging area for the reconstruction efforts underway in the nearby capital.
As the three men watched the parade of trucks and military escorts pass by, Mr. White had to wonder at the priority being given the project. Inside the beltway, Washington had been ransacked by riots, fires and looting. While he could understand the government’s need to put on a good show, rebuilding the White House and Capitol Dome wouldn’t have been his highest priority. No matter. Not his concern at the moment.
After the convoy had passed, Mr. White refocused on Eris. “Yes, you both performed well, but these are different times, a different place... we must adapt. I find myself in a position where our tradecraft is viewed from an unforeseen perspective, and I feel it worth reengaging your services to make sure there aren’t any breadcrumbs left behind.”
Eris clearly didn’t like it, but had to admit Mr. White was correct. They had never operated on US soil before; rarely were American casualties required for any operation. The fact that Mr. White was even discussing the situation was astonishing to the operative.
“I want you and your partner to go to Memphis,” the spook continued, handing over the typical envelope. “Your instructions, travel arrangements, and necessary documents are all included in the package.”
Eris nodded, “Yes, sir.”
Instead of walking away, Mr. White stayed put – a fact that rattled Eris even more. “You need to be aware that there are competing operations in progress. I’m talking about interference above and beyond any efforts by JAG or the military to investigate the occurrences in West Texas.”
Glancing around to make sure no one was nearby, Mr. White continued, “You are authorized to eliminate anyone interfering with your activities. Is that clear?”
This was most unusual, and Eris couldn’t answer right away. Side agreements were strictly forbidden. If the envelope didn’t spell out the operational parameters, he didn’t execute squat. “Sir, are those instructions clearly spelled out in here?” he asked, holding up the parcel.
“No, and I don’t want to hear one morsel of shit about it!” White exploded. He inhaled deeply, gathering himself before continuing, his expression and voice becoming emotionless. “You’re bordering on insubord
ination young man. As I said, things have changed. This is a different time and place. We must adapt and overcome.”
Nodding, Eris mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
Mr. White looked the operative up and down, his eyes like ice, his voice colder. “Don’t let me down,” he hissed, and then pivoted abruptly and strolled off.
Alastair had been watching the exchange from across the street. “What’s up?” he questioned after catching up with his partner.
Eris recounted the conversation, including the side orders and Mr. White’s odd behavior.
“This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into,” Alastair teased.
Chapter 9
Crawford, New Mexico
July 30
Terri found a comfortable spot to play with Hunter on the tailgate of the truck. She found herself constantly amazed at how quickly he was learning, every day bringing a new motor skill or cognitive development. The day was bright, but temperate, and a slight breeze made the pickup’s bed as good as any playground she could imagine.
She was so wrapped up in peek-a-boo that she didn’t notice the engine sound until the source vehicle downshifted, the change in tone drawing her immediate attention. Playtime stopped, much to Hunter’s dismay.
Her first instinct was to pull the baby tight to her chest, scanning their surroundings. Whatever had rolled into town hadn’t sounded that close – but still. After verifying no threat was imminent, she put the child in its papoose and grabbed her rifle.
“Bishop… Bishop, wake up. We’ve got company. I heard a motor,” she warned. Her husband must have been exhausted because he took far longer to roll out of the bunk than normal. Despite the need to rub the sleep from his eyes, he was up and moving less than a minute later.
“What did you hear?” he asked as he pulled on his armor and vest.
“It sounded like a truck of some sort. I think it was over toward the business district, but I can’t be sure.”
“I’ll go check it out.”
“I’m going with you,” she protested. “We already had this discussion once.”
Bishop shook his head, “What if Hunter cries at exactly the wrong time? This is different, Terri. We know there are people around now.”
“I’ll hang back,” she countered. “I’ll only stay close enough to keep you in sight. That way, if things go badly, I can help… like all those other times.”
His wife’s reminder that she had saved his bacon more than once caused a grimace to flash across the Texan’s face. He hated it when she did that.
That leverage, plus the fog of sleep still affecting his reasoning caused him to agree.
“Okay, but stay back and under cover.”
“Gotcha,” she replied, kissing his cheek as he made to exit the camper.
While she waited for his footfalls to fade into the distance, Terri looked down at Hunter and smiled. “Come on, kiddo, I’ll teach you how to save your dad’s backside.”
Terri was right-handed. Before leaving their temporary home, she made sure Hunter’s rig didn’t interfere with her shooting position. A spare mag of ammo fit snugly in one back pocket; her 9mm resided in its holster on her hip. She made sure Hunter didn’t need changing before reaching for the door’s handle.
Carrying a baby and a long gun posed a unique set of problems. Entering a potentially dangerous situation while caring for an infant wasn’t a natural act. As she rounded the mall’s corner, she tried to reassure herself by thinking about her species’ history. What did the pioneer women do with their children when the Indians were attacking? What did the mothers of the Middle Ages do when the barbarians were at the walls of the castle? They probably fought with the children on their hips, she concluded. They didn’t have any choice.
She loved Hunter so much, always experiencing an overwhelming urge to protect her child. The dichotomy occurred when situations arose where it wasn’t black and white how best to ensure his safety. If something happened to Bishop, she and the child were screwed. If something happened to her, she thought Bishop had a better chance of surviving alone with the boy. If anything happened to Hunter, she didn’t know if she could carry on.
Yet somehow, it didn’t seem right to just run off and hide every time a threat appeared. She seriously considered taking her baby and moving away from the motor noise, finding some place to huddle quietly and shield her child. That’s shortsighted, she reasoned. We all need each other to survive. We have to stick together.
“All for one… one for all,” she whispered to Hunter, amusing herself with the old television cliché. “That’s going to be our new creed. The more the world shits on us, the tighter our family will be.”
She couldn’t stalk like Bishop. Her recovering post-partum weight, the unbalanced Hunter, and her rifle prohibited graceful movement. She decided she would walk like a normal person, traveling back just far enough to keep an eye on her husband and staying behind cover wherever possible.
Her first stop was a utility pole in front of the mall. From there, she paused, watching Bishop as he scurried, crawled, ran, and scrambled toward the business district. She had to admit the man was fast, moving with such determination and focus. It was like watching an athlete.
It was only a few blocks to downtown Crawford. After giving Bishop a head start, she began walking down the sidewalk as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Her husband had instilled an important habit, however; Terri’s eyes were always looking for the closest place to hide if someone starting shooting. A flash of hesitation darted through her mind as she progressed down the street. She prayed her Kevlar vest would stop bullets from reaching Hunter, pausing for a moment at the thought. The fear passed, and she kept going.
Rounding a slight bend in the road, she detected movement in the street ahead, and it wasn’t Bishop. She cut hard left and ducked behind the church’s sign.
Peering around the stone frame, she identified an old school bus parked right in the middle of the main drag. It was painted a faded blue and looked to have been old even before the collapse. There was a string of people exiting the vehicle, a younger man standing next to the door and helping the passengers down the steps.
Terri raised her rifle, thankful Bishop had insisted she learn how to shoot with an optic. Making sure the safety was on before pointing the weapon at the new arrivals, she found the 4x magnification significantly improved her view.
“Crawford First Baptist Church,” she whispered, reading the lettering along the side of the bus. She then scanned the exiting throng.
If it weren’t for the two men standing guard on the edge of the crowd, the scene would have looked like any church bus unloading parishioners on a Sunday morning. Older ladies clutching their purses milled around, mixing with younger parents trying to keep their energetic children from straying too far.
The two sentries appeared to be the only ones worried about anything, their sunglasses constantly scanning the area, trying to protect the group under their care. Terri couldn’t tell for sure what they were, but the rifles on their shoulders looked similar to Bishop’s military-style weapons.
“He’s even got me using that word now,” she whispered to Hunter. “Who cares if you say ‘gun’ instead of ‘weapon?’ Everyone knows what you mean.”
Terri then tried to locate Bishop, but couldn’t find him. She was sure he was close to the bus, but out of sight. “He’s studying them,” she informed Hunter. “I wonder what his move will be.”
She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Over the murmur of the gathered congregation, Bishop’s voice rang out. “Hello there! Could anyone give me directions to the Crawford Chamber of Commerce?”
Terri almost giggled at the greeting, the humorous remark stopped short by the guard’s reactions. Both men stepped forward, their weapons coming ready at their shoulders.
The man helping the passengers disembark reacted as well. Terri watched as he began waving his flock back to the cover of the bus. “Flock,” Terri observed. “
He’s the minister; he’s in charge.”
“I’m coming out now,” Bishop’s voice rang again. “I mean no harm and want no trouble. Please don’t shoot me.”
After giving the armed men a chance to digest his words, Bishop appeared around the corner of the post office, his weapon hanging loose and his arms in the air. She noticed he didn’t wander far from the structure.
The preacher moved forward, stepping between the now nervous security men. “Who are you, and what do you want?” the man demanded.
“I’m only traveling through,” responded Bishop without hesitation. “I arrived last night and needed to catch some sleep. Your bus’s motor woke me up.”
“Well then be on your way,” responded the gruff voice of the older guard. “You’re on private property, and travelers aren’t welcome here.”
Bishop took a step forward, the smile on his face obvious through Terri’s optic. So was the guard’s reaction to her husband’s move – his rifle adjusted to point directly at Bishop’s chest. Terri surprised herself, centering her red dot on the man’s head. She flicked off her safety, but kept her finger away from the trigger. Her eyes squinted, zooming in on the man threatening her husband. She concentrated on his trigger finger, deciding she would kill him if it moved.
“Now that’s not friendly at all,” responded Bishop, halting his advance. “If I wanted trouble, partner, I would have just cut you to pieces before showing myself. Are we going to play alpha-male games right from the get-go?”
“Dean,” hissed the preacher. “Settle down… he’s not done anything to us.”
The padre stepped between the menacing guard and Bishop, the move intentionally causing Dean to move his rifle off target. “My name is Boyd Pearson, I’m the minister hereabouts.”
“My name is Bishop,” came the calm reply. “My family and I are traveling from West Texas. We’re on our way to Utah.”
