by Nobody, Joe
Diana nodded, signaling her understanding. “Gentlemen, I would like a little time for our council to talk this over. There is an excellent restaurant just up the street. If you would, please grant us a few hours to discuss this recent turn of events.”
“They have great steaks, fresh from one of the local ranches,” Nick offered with a smile.
“And some of my finest beer,” offered Pete, grinning at the visitors.
Owens looked at his comrades and shrugged. “Who can turn down a good steak and cold beer? Shall we reconvene in two hours then?”
“Yes, and thank you, General.”
The council was feeling both excited and scared. Avoiding war would be a tremendous relief for the governing body and the citizens. Having a professional military would also serve to lessen the load on a citizen militia that was being overtaxed. Life without all of the modern conveniences reduced free time, and the added burden of preparing for battle only increased the hardship.
On the other hand, adding tens of thousands of new stomachs to keep fed was a daunting task. Even the most grandiose plans for the future had the Alliance absorbing new territory in small bits and pieces, not doubling the population in one giant gulp.
Diana let the council members express themselves for a while and then started directing the discussion. Staff members were sent to fetch maps, while she began rapid firing a series of questions to her fellow representatives.
“How much excess food are we producing right now?”
“What are the storage amounts of diesel and gasoline?”
“What are the projections for the fall harvest?”
“Are the big ranches still culling down their herds? At what pace?”
For over 90 minutes, the inquiries flew, and most of the answers were easily answered.
Finally glancing at her watch, Diana announced, “We have to give these gentlemen a response. I say we hold a vote.”
“I don’t know, Diana,” Pete offered from the end of the table. “I don’t think it’s fair for them to drop this bombshell on us and expect an answer in less than one day. That’s asking a lot.”
DA Gibson added, “Pete’s right. I don’t think this is something we can rush.”
Nick chimed in, “They waited too long. They won’t admit it, but they’re desperate. Think about what they pulled with Bishop and Chamber’s Canyon. Factor in the attack at Midland Station. My guess is both base commanders are having issues with discipline right now. I think they’re losing control of their rank and file. The president’s death and no successor would accelerate any discontent.”
The big man paused for a moment, making eye contact with every seated member. “Keep in mind that one rogue captain and a platoon of battle tanks could wipe us out in a heartbeat. They could flatten downtown Alpha in a matter of hours. I, for one, don’t want to risk that.”
Nick’s statement caused everyone at the table to pause, contemplating the repercussions if the military chain of command disintegrated.
Diana broke the silence, “So, should we have a vote, or risk asking for more time?”
Pete spoke up, “I know how I’m going to vote. I’m not sure how we’ll pull it off, but I believe we’ve got to try.”
In the end, a formal ballot wasn’t necessary. The decision was unanimous; the Alliance would welcome all military installations between Fort Bliss in the west and Fort Hood in the east.
DA Gibson suggested the term “surrender” be avoided. It was agreed that a “realignment of forces” sounded better for all involved.
Nick sent one of the security men to retrieve the visitors. A few minutes later, the three men entered the council chambers where they were met with smiling faces, handshakes, and well wishes.
For the rest of the day, the military men stayed in Alpha, laboring over details, announcements and short-term plans. During one break, General Westfield approached Nick and saluted. “I guess I report to you now, sir,” the officer stated.
Nick was a little taken aback by the notion. “No, no I don’t believe you do, General. I think Diana is your boss now.”
“I thought you were in charge of the local defense forces?” Westfield offered, a little confused.
“I am, but I’m not qualified to run a large military organization, sir. I’ve barely kept our little band of volunteers moving forward. I’m going to recommend that Diana appoint you or General Owens as our top military man.”
“I see,” Westfield replied, and then changed the subject. “Any word on Terri and Bishop? I heard they’re out wandering around the badlands. God help the badlands.”
“I received a message from Bishop about a week ago,” Nick responded, a frown crossing his face. “They were in New Mexico at the time. Who knows where they are now? I don’t have any way of contacting them or letting Bishop know his name has been cleared.”
Westfield grunted, “I’ve got to admit, there was never a dull moment with that couple around. The time they spent on my base was… well… interesting.”
Nick laughed, “You can say that again. But, on days like today, we miss them. I’m sure Terri could make all of this go smoother. And Bishop… I’m positive he would have made everyone laugh at least once.”
“Or groan,” the Colonel chimed in.
It was growing dark by the time the group finally determined they were too exhausted to continue. Both generals committed to assigning senior military officers to Diana’s office where they would serve as liaisons, coordinators, and expeditors. Diana promised to name civilian representatives with similar responsibilities to each base.
The council members walked with their new allies to the park where the crew was warming up the helicopter.
After the bird had become airborne, Diana turned to Nick and said, “I wish Terri could have been here to see this today. It’s a huge step, one we might not have been able to take without all of her hard work and effort.”
“I know how you feel. I was speaking with Westfield in the same line about Bishop. I hope those two are doing okay.”
Diana looked to the northwest, “They’ll be back. I know they will.”
Chapter 17
Alpha, Texas
August 7
The line of big trucks filled the air with more noise than downtown Alpha had witnessed since the battle between Deacon Brown’s church and the convicts who ruled half the town. That intense firefight raged through the streets for hours. Excitement and diesel exhaust filled the air as crowds of onlookers stood to absorb what all agreed was a historic event.
It was an impressive display given only three days to organize and prepare the convoy. Livestock, ranging from almost a hundred head of cattle to goats, chickens and even rabbits, were unwitting passengers. Some of the animals were on their way to slaughter, others being transported for breeding purposes.
Three tankers of diesel and one of gasoline filled out the parade’s ranks, Diana ordering a drawdown of the Alliance’s reserves to unheard of levels. There were also three trucks full of corn, rice, and fresh fruits, courtesy of the area’s agricultural-breadbasket bordering the Rio Grande.
It was a bold move, an unquestionable statement of support and welcome to the new residents of the Alliance. A similar caravan was leaving Midland Station, en route to Fort Hood.
“The local ranchers really went above and beyond,” Diana said to the gathering dignitaries. “The Triple-7 and Beltran ranches provided most of the beef. Practically every farmer, rancher, and grower in the territory contributed something. We all look at those in uniform as our own sons and daughters.”
General Owens nodded, impressed by the display and cooperation he was experiencing. “This shipment will turn the tide at both bases,” he commented. “This is exactly what those soldiers need to see. You will earn their unwavering loyalty with this act.”
Diana smiled, “I wanted to arrive in broad daylight, put on a big show to celebrate our agreement. We tried, but just couldn’t get everything organized in time.
My people tell me we have to get those animals unloaded soon, so we’ve got to head in tonight.”
“It won’t matter,” Owens answered. “Everyone at both bases knows food and supplies are on the way. You’ll still have a good turnout, even if it’s an early hour.”
Nick arrived with the pickup, ready to escort Diana and lead the convoy. DA Gibson and Pete were heading up the effort at Fort Hood.
“This is a great day,” Nick observed. “A historic moment.”
“It still seems like a dream to me, to be honest,” she replied. “I wish I could step back and take in more perspective, but all I can see right now is a long road of problems and issues ahead.”
“You’ve done well by the people that elected you,” he responded with a sincere tone. “I don’t want to increase your burden or anything, but I do have an important question that can’t wait any longer.”
She sighed, expecting a request or urgent matter. “What’s wrong?”
Something in her tone warned him off. “It’ll wait. I can tell you’re wound up tighter than a buffer spring.”
“A what?”
“Never mind,” he laughed. “We have to stop and pick up Kevin on the way out. He’s working at checkpoint Charlie today.”
North Central New Mexico
August 7
Bishop announced he was going up the mountain, wanting to explore the territory around their new home as well as check on the local game population. They had spent the previous few days resting, eating, and enjoying the peace and quiet. It had been a welcome respite from the stress of travel. But Bishop was growing restless and wanted to get more comfortable with their surroundings. “I like the security of this location. There’s good water, so all we need short-term is food. I’m going to scout around.”
“Watch out for moonshiners,” Terri teased, surprised he hadn’t wanted to go sooner. She watched as he prepared to hike up a steep hill.
“Now that would be cool. I wonder if their stuff is good enough to use as gasoline.”
Shaking her head, she kissed him goodbye and then spent a while tracking his progress as he slowly made his way up the hill. She returned to the camper, tidying up the small space and checking on a sleeping Hunter. A quick sniff of his diaper confirmed he’d probably stay out for least another 30 minutes.
She went back outside, gathering an armload of supplies from the truck and carrying them back to the camper. She’d make a nice meal tonight, something hot and filling to improve both of their moods. On the way, a patch of wild blossoms caught her attention. “A little color would help that mood as well. I wonder if they smell good.”
Hunter was still in dreamland, so she decided to go dig some flowers for transplanting. I’ll plant some of them around the camper, she thought. That will brighten things up. After scrounging her knife for digging and an empty cardboard box to hold the root bulbs, she started up the hill but then stopped. She had forgotten her weapon.
Pulling on her rifle, Terri thought Bishop would be proud of her for not going anywhere without the heavy gun. It really didn’t bother her anymore, once he’d taught her how to adjust the sling. It’s amazing what you can get used to, she thought. Glancing around one last time, she couldn’t see any reason not to make the short ascent to the hillside flora. The camper holding her son would never be out of her sight.
The grade was steeper than anticipated, surprising her at how quickly she felt winded. The flower patch was less than 100 yards from the camper, and she hadn’t even made it halfway before her breathing came hard. “It’s a combination of the altitude and my lack of exercising,” she mumbled, “It’s going to take me a while to get accustomed to this.”
Digging deep, she continued up the incline, needing to stop and rest after another two dozen steps. She spied an outcropping of rocks and decided the short detour was worth having a place to sit and catch her breath. The ankle deep leaves and dew-moist pine needles didn’t seem like such a good perch.
Terri picked a flat-looking rock as a suitable stool. She sat, swinging the rifle back to her front where it was more comfortable. The camper was in plain view below, and everything looked okay. She listened intently, hoping to detect if Hunter was awake. She arched her back to stretch, setting her hands on the cool stone, and leaning back on her locked arms.
Something stung her wrist, the sharp pain making her sit upright and bring the offending limb forward. At first, she thought a vine with a briar was stuck in her skin, but then the vine moved, withering its serpentine body. She shrieked, realizing a snake still had its fangs embedded in her limb.
Flinging the offending creature to the rocks, Terri stomped hard with her boot, smashing its body with a single strike. “Shit, shit, shit,” she cursed, looking around for any of the serpent’s brethren that might be preparing to attack her. There were none.
It was then that the bite began to burn like fire, the sensation spreading quickly around the two puncture wounds just above her wrist. She glanced down at the now-dead reptile. It was only 12 or 13 inches long, the squashed head no wider than a teaspoon. Bishop will want to see it, she reasoned, rubbing her injury. I’ll throw it in the box and take it back with me.
Bending to pick up the carcass, her vision blurred just slightly as she stood up. Not sure if it was the thin air, her exertion, or the snake bite, she decided to sit until it cleared. After visually inspecting the rocks for additional reptiles, she sat back down and tried to remain calm. The red, puffy welt on her arm was swelling, the pain more pronounced. “It was just a baby,” she said aloud, looking in the box. “How much venom could it have?”
Her vision became worse, soon followed by dizziness. Waves of nausea racked her stomach, and she leaned over and retched. Something’s really, really wrong, she realized. I better go back.
She managed to stand without throwing up again, her head pounding, perspiration breaking out on her face. She struggled another few steps and vomited again. She had to sit.
Terri knew she was in trouble. She considered yelling for Bishop, but didn’t have the energy. How long ago had he left? How far would he be? She was thirsty, and the burning sensation was advancing up her arm.
Maybe it doesn’t make any difference how small the snake is, she realized. Pure survival instinct allowed her to stand, that same desire to live driving her for the camper. She managed a half dozen steps before the pain in her gut doubled her over. Her mind couldn’t reconcile such a small animal doing this to her. Waves of nausea rolled through her mid-section, her heart was pounding hard, roaring in her ears.
Dizzy, weak, and unable to walk, Terri again sat to rest. The passage of time meant nothing to her poisoned mind, she only wanted to lay back and close her eyes. Sleep will help me feel better. I’ll go to sleep. With one last thought of Hunter and Bishop, she lifted the rifle, flicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger. The clap of the discharge startled her, the sound rolling through the valley below. She pulled the trigger again, and again.
She no longer had the strength to hold the weapon up. Lying on her back, Terri’s vision began to grow fuzzy, the limbs of the trees above blending into the blue sky. She felt like a huge weight was on her chest and decided that closing her eyes would also help her breathe.
Bishop was less than a quarter mile away when the report of Terri’s shots echoed up the hillside. He had just bent over to study the tracks on a game trail when the troubling sound reached his ears.
Hustling back, he bounded, ran, and skidded at a breakneck pace until the trailer came into view below. If someone were attacking their camp, he would only make things worse by bumbling right into the middle of a gunfight.
Everything looked normal from his vantage. He couldn’t see Terri, but there was no other movement or sign of other human beings. What the hell was going on?
He lifted the rifle and began studying the surrounding forest through the optic. A few moments later, he saw Terri, lying prone fifty yards up the opposing hillside.
It took
all of his discipline not to rush headlong to his wife’s side. If someone had shot her, they could be lying in ambush, waiting on him to come charging in for the rescue. It took him another minute to determine no one else was around.
Down he went, legs pumping like pistons as he descended the slope. He chanced a quick glance inside the camper, finding Hunter still sleeping in his swaddle. In a flash, he was climbing to Terri.
“Terri! Terri, I’m here.”
A weak moan from his wife’s throat was the initial response, followed by fluttering eyes and then a whispered, “I don’t feel so good.” It told him she wasn’t dead.
His first thought was a gunshot. Quickly patting down and examining her body, he couldn’t find any wound. She was pale, with labored breathing and skin as hot as hell. It was by pure chance he saw the two small rivulets of blood on her arm, a quick wipe and inspection telling him she’d been bitten.
He pulled the blow-out bag off his kit, quickly rummaging thru the contents, looking for the epi-pen. It was then he saw the dead snake in its box-coffin. Childhood memories of West Texas came flooding back – images, lessons and warnings all focused on the dreaded diamondback pattern. To make matters worse, it was a baby, no more than a few months old - the most dangerous kind of bite.
The epi-pen would be the wrong treatment. He remembered enough of his father’s teachings to know that slicing open and sucking out the venom was worthless as well. He found a tube of antibiotic cream and immediately spread the oily substance on the punctures. That was it; there was nothing else he could do.
He scooped her up and made for the camper, not even feeling the weight on his adrenaline-charged legs. Two minutes later, he laid her on the double berth and proceeded to loosen buttons, snaps, and bra so as not to restrict her circulation. The area around the twin-wounds was now swollen-red and puffy halfway up her forearm. He moved her so the arm hung below her heart.
“Shit, Terri, I don’t have any way of treating a snake bite,” he fussed. “Of all the things.”
