Copperheads

by Joe Nobody

  “Good one!” Butter yelled, treading water off the port side. “For a little fella, that was one heck of a splash.”

  Kevin surfaced nearby, shaking his head to clear the water from his eyes. Both of them were soon paddling for the ladder.

  “Did someone fall in?” Grim yelled, rushing to the rail a few moments later, an orange life preserver in his hands.

  “No,” Bishop laughed. “It’s just the kids high diving from the bridge.”

  Grim leaned out to look at the higher deck right when Butter’s massive frame sailed by. Again, a huge geyser of water erupted, the splash chasing Grim away from the edge. “Damn it!” he snarled, looking at his soaked shirt. “I knew those two, little shits would get into trouble sooner rather than later!”

  “What did you say, Grim?” Butter asked, only his head breaking the surface.

  Once more, Grim leaned over the rail, intent on giving his teammate an ear full. Before the old warrior could inhale, Kevin’s body soared past, impacting the surface and launching another wall of water that found their friend.

  Both of the lads were hooting up a storm, pointing and laughing at their buddy’s drenched clothing and red face. “Why you little shits!” Grim bellowed.

  In a flash, Grim dove over the side in a perfect swan, his body disappearing into the depths. Bishop, laughing so hard his ribs were aching, knew the hunters were about to become the hunted.

  As the Texan watched, Kevin and Butter’s heads were pivoting right and left, wondering where Grim had gone. It was the big man who shrieked first.

  “Something’s got me! Something’s got me!” Butter screamed in terror. “It’s an alligator … or maybe a shark! Somebody help!”

  As Kevin moved closer to his friend, Butter went under, his flapping, desperate hands flaying at the water as his head disappeared beneath the surface.

  Before Kevin could even take a deep breath, Grim and Butter surfaced at the same time, the old man waving Butter’s swimming trunks in the air like it was the greatest trophy he’d ever earned.

  Bishop was now howling up on the deck, Terri rushing to help, thinking something was badly wrong. Just as she rounded the bulkhead, Butter’s dripping trunks plopped down in her path.

  Kevin might have been the one of the younger members of the team, but that didn’t mean the boy couldn’t figure out what was coming next.

  Gulping a lungful of air, the unit’s marksman bolted for his escape. He managed one overhand stroke before Grim caught him from behind and pulled him under. The lad’s last words, “Oh, shit! Nooooo!” frantically thundered before his body vanished from sight.

  Again, a few seconds later, both Grim and his victim surfaced, Kevin’s trunks soon joining Butter’s up on the deck.

  “Laugh at the old man, will ya?” Grim chuckled, now swimming gracefully toward the ladder. “Little shits. That’ll teach ’em to mess with their betters.”

  Terri, catching on quickly to what had just transpired, sauntered up to her husband and whispered, “I take it that I shouldn’t go back below deck just yet?”

  Bishop glanced at Kevin and Butter’s anxious faces, both of them wanting desperately to retrieve their swimwear, neither willing to expose themselves to the lady. “Absolutely, my love. You should stay right here for a bit and enjoy the view … err … the sunset, I mean.”

  Terri snorted, “Yeah, it’s probably best if I don’t get any ‘view.’”

  Grim, rubbing out his hair in a towel, soon joined the couple. “How long do you think those two can tread water?” he laughed.

  “I keep waiting on one of them to figure out they can go to the back of the boat and climb out without being seen,” Bishop replied.

  “Nope. Hannah is back there, fixing something on the pier,” Grim answered with pride.

  The trio had another good laugh, which was soon interrupted by Butter’s pleading voice, “Mister Bishop, sir, could you please toss us our trunks, sir, please?”

  “What did you say, Butter?” Bishop shouted back, cupping his hand behind his ear.

  “Sir, could you please throw our trunks back to us?” Kevin repeated, knowing good and well that they were the butt of a very well played joke.

  “What happened to your shorts?” Terri asked from the rail, her voice laced with innocence. “Don’t tell me you two fine, young gentlemen were skinny dipping? Not in the presence of a lady?”

  Bishop had never seen Kevin and Butter’s faces so red. “No ma’am,” they both pleaded at once. “We kind of … well … we lost them.”

  “Give them back their trunks, Grim,” Bishop ordered. “Unless you want to explain to Nick why his son drowned.”

  For a moment, Bishop thought the team’s senior member was going to protest the command. Shrugging, he merely replied, “Yes, sir. I suppose we might need those boys tomorrow.”

  A moment later, the swimwear was airborne, landing a short distance away from the two tiring paddlers. Just as Butter reached his floating clothing, Grim couldn’t help himself. “By the way, guys, that water is crystal clear. You can see everything from up here.”

  Both kids’ eyes immediately darted to Terri, who simply nodded and smiled. “I’m going to go finish unpacking, Bishop,” she announced loud enough for the team’s youngest members to hear. “Let me know when it’s safe to come back up on deck.”

  Chapter 3

  Bishop awoke to the aroma of frying eggs.

  In all his years, travels, and adventures, he’d never slept so well as the previous night. Rolling over in hopes of encountering Terri’s shoulder and a warm embrace, the Texan was only slightly disappointed to find that his wife had already risen.

  In his half-awake state, he found it odd that she had managed to exit the berth without his knowing it. Another whiff from the ship’s kitchen interrupted that thought with a more troubling idea. Butter and Kevin might be up as well. There could only be so many eggs. He’d better hop out of bed before those two bottomless pits consumed every morsel in the galley.

  It was, however, easy to ignore the urge. The comfortable mattress and fresh air were fighting the good fight, the soft, morning-warm blankets adding their weight to the forces that opposed rising and shining. The vessel’s gentle sway was like a mother’s arms rocking her child to sleep.

  What really sealed the deal was that the pillows still carried the easy fragrance of his wife’s hair and skin. Last night had been a good night, worthy of replaying in his mind a few more times before pulling back the sheets and hitting the deck.

  He was glad she came along – this time. Despite Nick and Diana’s reassurances that this assignment was benign, images of Hunter being raised without his mother and father disturbed the Texan.

  Yet, he understood her need to change what was surely a mundane routine. He knew his wife loved Hunter with every ounce of her being, but that didn’t mean being a full-time mother in the post-apocalyptic world was an easy task. Beyond the physical dangers and overt threats, their current environment didn’t embolden two-career families. From Bishop’s way of thinking, his wife would have had a much better chance before the collapse of continuing her professional pursuits.

  Communication was one of the biggest issues. Bishop could remember thinking about Hunter three times yesterday. Had his firstborn taken that first step yet? Or had he fallen in the attempt and bumped his noggin? Maybe that slight sniffle had developed into a cold or flu. Would Diana know what to do? Would their son’s babysitter be up to the task?

  Before modern society had dropped off a cliff, a phone call or text could reassure a worried parent. Diana would have posted news and pics on social media. Terri and Bishop could keep in touch in a dozen different ways. Communication was instantaneous and abundant. Not now.

  Then there was state of medical care. Back in the good old days, Hunter might have had a live-in nanny or spent some time in a daycare center while Terri worked. In that age, if Hunter choked or fell or even had an allergic reaction, an ambulance could be called. T
here would be blood tests and labs and emergency rooms. Not now.

  Yes, there was a doctor in Alpha, but no one could be sure what medicines and skills were at his disposal. It was a certainty that the tests he could order were limited. He definitely didn’t have the internet and phone system to call in a specialist or consult with a teaching university.

  Bishop trusted Nick and Diana more than anyone on earth except his wife. He knew both of them would treat Hunter as their own. Most times, those facts smoothed over the concerns of leaving their only child behind. Most … but not always.

  Now, however, Terri’s lingering scent made Bishop appreciate having his partner along. Her eyes had twinkled like stars, looking up with love from that pillow last night. Her face had twisted in compassion and release on these sheets. They had passed from not being able to get close enough to each other into the warm afterglow of satiated lovers right here. It was enough to make a man consider missing breakfast.

  “Wakie, wakie, eggs and bakie,” Terri’s cheerful voice rang from the cabin’s threshold. “Well, eggs and toast anyway. Hannah didn’t have any bacon.”

  She came to him with a kiss, lingering just a little longer than usual to admire her husband.

  “What are you doing up so early?” he asked. “I figured you would sleep in without the Hunter alarm clock.”

  “Early?” she grinned. “The sun has been up for over an hour, Bishop. I did sleep in, but not as long as some people I know,” she continued, poking him playfully in the chest.

  Before he could defend himself, she lowered her voice and poured it on, “I’m worried about you, Bishop. Did I wear you out last night? Cause if I did, we may have material issues in our future. Last night was nothing compared to what I’ve got in store for you later, and if you’re this tuckered after the warm-up, there’s no way you’ll survive the main course.”

  With the speed of a striking cobra, Bishop’s arms came from under the blankets, effortlessly lifting her from the deck. Before Terri could even yelp in protest, she was pinned against his chest. “I’ll show you exhausted, young lady. We’ll see who needs to sleep in after I’ve had my way with you.”

  She struggled, pushing against his grip with all her might, but it was hopeless. Bishop’s arms were like two steel bands holding her close, his eyes were filled with pure adoration.

  As usual, Terri had to resort to intellect to win the fight. “Your eggs are going to get cold. That, and I saw Butter pacing outside the galley. He might not be able to resist the aroma for long,” she beamed, gently touching his lower lip with her finger.

  “You little shit,” Bishop whispered, releasing his grip.

  “Don’t pout,” she reassured. “They’ll be plenty of time for fun later. Besides, you’ve got to earn your pay today. The deputies will be here in an hour.”

  He started to reach for her again, mumbling something about an hour was plenty of time, but she scurried away with a giggle. “Get up, Mr. Lazy Bones. There’s even an orange. Or there was five minutes ago.”

  Bishop wolfed down his morning meal, thanked the cook, and set about preparing his gear. He and the team were going to cross into Mexico today, and while no one knew what kind of reception they would receive, he was pretty sure it was going to be a boring day.

  It was the typical SAINT mission, earning the acronym - Scout, Approach, INtroduce, and Transition.

  While the transition stage was questionable in this case, Bishop knew Alpha was always looking for new trading partners and expanding what little was known of the areas outside of Texas. Other than that minor difference, they were going to handle the investigation professionally and err on the side of caution. The Texan was especially worried about the approach and introduction phases. Language and custom were going to be an issue. Old racial divides might also play a role. Any folks they encountered south of the border might not like armed gringos intruding into their territory.

  It was with no small amount of pride that he inspected his team before loading into the deputy’s car. No one expected much trouble today, yet his guys were acting like professionals. They knew the drill, embodied their roles, and had selected their kit accordingly.

  Today’s loadout wasn’t intended for diplomatic relations, unless he counted gun barrel diplomacy as a legitimate option. Bishop noted that everyone was carrying the maximum amount of ammunition and the largest bug-out bags and medical kits available. They weren’t going to make friends, no negotiations were slated, nor would there be waving of the Alliance flag. The agenda was simple. Get in, find out as much information as possible, and get out with all hands present and accounted for.

  There were no flyers or propaganda sheets touting the benefits of joining the Alliance, nor was the SAINT team bearing gifts. There were times when such items were strategically important, but today the weight of those diplomatic tools had been replaced with bullets.

  This was also intended to be a one-day mission, two at the worst. That meant the heavy packs worn by each member were not encumbered with sleeping apparatus or extra rations. In and out, fighting both ways if need be.

  In reality, Grim had already inspected both of the younger men 10 minutes before Bishop’s arrival. No one minded repeating the brief routine a second time. Leaving something behind … some forgotten detail or missing piece of equipment might endanger them all.

  “Did you pack extra batteries for your optic?” Bishop asked Kevin.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Backup iron sights are zeroed?”

  “Yes, sir. They’re actually co-witnessed. Dad showed me how, sir.”

  And so it continued, everyone trying to make sure no preparation had been neglected, shortchanged, or overlooked. There weren’t any corner drug stores or gun shops where they were going.

  Bishop had just finished verifying the contents of Butter’s load vest when Grim cleared his throat, trying to get the boss’s attention. Before he could grasp what was happening, Terri’s voice sounded from over the team leader’s shoulder. “I got my rifle, a canteen, and a couple of extra magazines. Anything else I need?”

  Bishop pivoted smartly, eyes flying wide as he realized his wife intended to join them. “Umm … err …. What are you doing?” he stuttered.

  “I’m going to Mexico with the team,” she announced with a matter-of-fact tone. “Why? Is there a problem with that?”

  Hooking arms with his bride, Bishop pulled her out of earshot. In a low voice, he said, “Yes, there is a problem with that. We have no idea who or what we’ll encounter over there. This isn’t a diplomatic mission. We’re going to see if we can find any evidence of who shot up the trucks or why they did it, not to negotiate a treaty or integrate a new town into the Alliance.”

  “I know that,” she replied. “But I didn’t come along on this trip to lay around the marina and work on my tan. Mr. McCarthy is proving to be a colossal asshole and will certainly make all sorts of trouble if he can. If I’m not in the loop front-to-back and top-to-bottom, I won’t be able to handle him … or Washington … as well.”

  Bishop shook his head in frustration, “Terri, seriously, this isn’t a good idea. We have no clue what, who, or how many hostile people might be waiting for us. SAINT teams are shot at more often than not. Today isn’t a good day for you to go along and see what your husband does at the office.”

  “I’ve got my rifle,” she countered, “and I’ve proven I know how to use it. Besides, after you and Nick pulled that little stunt with all your secret ‘need to know’ bullshit, you promised me there wouldn’t be any more boys’ club shenanigans.”

  Bishop wasn’t buying the argument, “This has nothing to do with your being my wife or the mother of my child or a female. Those three men over there worked their asses off, training for months on how to function as an integrated team. We all know how the others are thinking without a word being exchanged. This assignment will be challenging enough with four of us, let alone a new member who hasn’t been exposed to our methods and proc
edures.”

  “You said this wouldn’t be an overly dangerous trip. You said you were going to try and avoid the locals. You told me not to worry.”

  “I always tell you not to worry.”

  “So you always lie to me?”

  Bishop shook his head, unwilling to play verbal judo at the moment. “Why do you want to go so badly?”

  “I want to learn. I want to serve the Alliance. I want to be with you. I promise, I’ll do exactly what you tell me once we’re in the field,” she said, making an X motion across her chest. “Cross my heart and hope not to die. Besides, from the look of those trucks we saw yesterday, staying around here isn’t exactly the safest place in the Alliance. Wouldn’t I be safer with you and the guys?”

  Bishop glanced back at his team, all three of them curious what the outcome was going to be … all of them trying desperately not to appear nosey.

  Terri then played her ace. “I speak pretty good Spanish.”

  “You don’t speak Spanish!”

  With a sultry pout of her lips and a look that would melt iron, Terri rasped, “Hola, buen hombre, quieres pasar un buen rato?”

  Bishop didn’t know what she had just rattled off, but he had a feeling now wasn’t the time to request a translation. Sighing, he asked, “High school Spanish?”

  “Two years in high school. Plus, my roommate at A&M was from Mexico. I can get by,” she crowed.

  The Texan’s gaze went south in thought, his mind trying to find the winning point of logic or reasoning why Terri shouldn’t go. Nothing came to him.

  Shrugging, he capitulated, “Okay, go grab your pack, body armor, and as many magazines as you can carry.”

  “Body armor? I have to wear that hot, heavy vest?”

  “Terri …” he scowled.

  “Okay, okay. Give me a minute,” she responded.

  After she sped away, Grim approached with great caution. “I take it the missus is tagging along for our little stroll today.”

  Bishop didn’t want to discuss it. Answering the question with merely a nod, he approached Butter and proclaimed, “Terri is joining us today. Your bodyguard duties have just been extended.”