by Hoaks, C. A.
“I think it’s a good idea. The People will be worried.” Enola answered. “Ben is one of the few elders to survive the attack.”
Carrie stood up. “We’ll take good care of him. No need to worry.”
“It’s not me. The tribe will be concerned if Ben doesn’t come back with us.”
Liz smiled. “We’ll work it out.”
Liz and Enola climbed into Ben’s truck, and Enola cranked the engine. She shoved the automatic into gear and followed the drive around the circle to head back toward the drawbridge. “We had over a hundred people, mostly from the tribe when we left Eagle Pass. Now we have less than sixty. Probably no more than half are able to fight or protect themselves with the kids, and the elders.” After a frustrated sigh, she added. “Then we have the half dozen from the city.”
Liz laughed. “Yeah, I’ve met that woman, Tammy Robertson. How you didn’t leave her alongside the road is a puzzle to me.”
“She has been trying for many in the tribe. The elders keep telling us to be patient.” Enola chuckled.
Liz smiled. “You’re safe here. Randy is just cautious. As soon as Pablo can verify he knows some of the people, you can move into the encampment.”
Enola shrugged. “Time will tell.”
The guards at the drawbridge lowered the cattle guard, and Enola drove the truck over and turned toward the camp. Pablo’s pickup was parked near the collection of vehicles belonging to the new arrivals. “Pablo is here,” Liz commented.
Enola parked the truck, and the two women walked to where Pablo stood to talk to several men of the Kickapoo tribe. The members, including two men with long white hair and native dress, spoke quietly with Pablo.
Tammy Robertson stood to the side with her arms folded across her chest. She tapped her foot, gulped air and made no effort to hide her irritation. Finally, the woman could contain herself no longer. “I’m sure it’s all fine and good to see old friends, but now that the pedigree of this motley crew has been established, I’d like to be provided with a room and bed.”
The men turned to Tammy with a stony look on their faces. Pablo opened his mouth, but Liz started laughing before he could utter a sound. The gathering looked at Liz as if she had lost her mind. Pablo stared with a puzzled look on his face.
Finally, Liz spoke soft and low. “Ms. Robertson. Tammy, you seem to have missed the memo that the world has changed, and you are now useless. Your us and them mentality is not welcome here. You were brought to our doorstep by people who have a sponsor. Who do you have to speak for you?” Liz waited, but Tammy remained quiet. “No one. You have no one to speak for you, not a single person to tell me why you would be an asset to our community, so we have a bit of a problem now.” Tammy looked at Pablo and the elders, but their faces remained emotionless. Liz continued. “This is not a hotel, this is our home. The people who live here work long hard days. If, and I am emphasizing the IF, we decide you can stay, you will be expected to do the same. So far you have offered nothing but a belligerent attitude and sense of entitlement. For now, be glad you have had these people to protect you and get you this far. Now it’ll be up to you to prove you have value to our community.”
Pablo turned to the elders. “Mañana, mis amigos.” He nodded at Liz, and together they walked to his truck, climbed in and drove away. Liz looked in the side mirror and saw Tammy still staring after them while the elders and tribe members walked toward the center of camp.
“Well, that was fun, señora.” Pablo finally said.
“She irritates me. I’ve seen her type before. She may give lip service to the betterment of some oppressed class, but in reality, she’s wallowing in her superiority.” Liz answered. “The tribe was saddled with her when she was dead weight. I don’t know how I’ll tolerate her here.”
Pablo shrugged. “She’ll change.”
He crossed the bridge, and the guards raised the passage. Liz continued. “I wish they were on this side of the arroyo.”
“They’ll be safe tonight. It may only be one night, the elders and a couple of the young men will be coming to the lodge tomorrow. We’re planning a hunting trip.”
“That’s fine, I’m sure. Maybe Ben will be awake and feel better.” Liz hesitated then continued. “If it’s not Carrie was talking about keeping him on IV antibiotics for a couple days. Let’s just hope it doesn’t require a procedure Carrie is not even remotely prepared for.”
“He could lose the arm?” Pablo asked.
“We hope not. Carrie is terrified at just the thought of performing surgery of any kind, much less an amputation.”
“We’ll pray for no need of such a thing,” Pablo answered.
When they entered the lodge, they found Will, Randy, Harry, John, and Carrie standing at the bar with beers, deep in conversation. Will pulled a beer from below the counter an handed Pablo a bottle, then passed a bottle of water for Liz.
Liz settled on a bar stool, reaching her lower back and stretching. “What’s going on?”
“We’re discussing the new arrivals. Feeding so many are going to deplete stores rather quickly with the sudden increase in our numbers,” Will announced.
“And the solution, you’ve come up with?” Liz asked.
Randy grinned at Liz. “I’m going hunting with Romeo and a few of his buddies. Mule deer, javelina, and black-tailed jackrabbit are plentiful in the area. We’ll go up into the mountains a little bit, we can find elk or black bear.”
“We need livestock besides the goats.” Will added.
Harry leaned over the bar and sat down his empty bottle. “Is there any cattle ranches in the area. Say, within a twenty-mile radius.”
“There’s a couple working ranches down toward Van Horn.”
“McCarthy started raising bison a few years ago.” Randy interrupted. “If we could move them up to the area it would serve two purposes.”
“What do you mean?” Will asked.
“If we got even a dozen head, in a couple years they would be a ready food source and could be used if we were attacked,” Randy answered, with a crooked grin appearing on his face.
Harry laughed. “Young man, have you ever handled buffalo?”
“No.”
“Neither have I, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be easy.” John laughed. “You do have the right idea, though. Cattle would add to the food production. There’s plenty of grazing available from at the back of the canyon where it opens up into the valley.”
Chapter 41
Witness
Steve stood silent witness to the killing of the village residents. One by one the attackers killed each of the elderly and male residents, some after abusing and assaulting them. The bodies of the men and older women lay in the empty lot under the scorching sun. The raiders loaded the remaining young women and girls into the troop truck with four males. Before the vehicles pulled out, two of the men moved from body to body freeing their hands.
Steve’s finger, resting on the trigger guard, itched to take the shot. He wanted to kill the man that had murdered the villagers so severely he felt physically ill. But he knew the people he protected would pay the price, so he held his rage. When the trucks pulled out and headed back the way they had come, Steve turned the scope toward the backyard and the outhouse. He watched the door open slowly. The girl in the red shirt slipped through the door and hurried to the body lying in the garden. She picked up the old woman and held her close while she brushed the dirt from her face and hair. Finally, she gently laid her head down and straightened her legs and arms. She walked to an open shed and disappeared into the shadows of the overhang. She reappeared a few minutes later with a tarp and shovel in hand. She laid the tarp next to the woman and gently moved the old woman’s body to the middle and folded the sids over her. When she was done, she stood and squared her shoulders.
“They killed all the people didn’t they?” Della whispered.
Steve nodded. “I thought I’d never see that kind of brutality again.”
“Zack i
s in terrible shape. He saw them kill an old woman.”
“They killed everyone, but a young girl. She’s down there digging a grave.”
“I’m going to go get her,” Della announced.
Steve turned to face Della. “No! Hell no! You can’t. It’s too dangerous. We don’t know how long before the dead get up.”
“I’m not leaving her there all alone. She’ll die.” Della looked down the ridge. “I can get down there easy enough. I see a game trail.” Della looked around. “You stay here and do what you can with Zack. It won’t take more than half an hour for me to get down and back. I know l can convince her to come with me before the others reanimate.”
Steve opened his mouth to protest again, but Della turned to the narrow path leading down to the village. When she was gone, Steve made his way back to where Zack sat on a fallen log. His head rested on his chest, and a trail of tears spilled down his round cheeks. “You could have shot the bastard that killed the baby.” He mumbled.
Steve sighed. “There were over thirty men. Sure, I could have maybe got half a dozen shots off before they got behind cover or figured out where I was. Do you think it would have stopped them from killing those people?” Zack shrugged, and Steve continued. “And when they came after us? What about Della, Darlene, and Penny? Do you think they would survive without us?”
Zack wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “It’s just….”
Steve interrupted. “I know what you’re saying. It’s a crappy deal, but we have to consider the impact of everything we do. We’re only fifty miles from the Guadeloupe Mountains.” He took a deep breath then patted Zack’s shoulder. “Come on. Della went after a survivor. We have to keep an eye on her.”
Della patted the handgun on her hip as she looked down at the steep decline. She studied the trail that zig-zag its way down to the valley floor. The brush and mesquite on either side of the path would hide her descent from most of the village and give her a handhold on the steeper sections. Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the edge of the bluff to the trail, and instantly, her feet slipped from under her. The loose gravel left her sliding down the path several feet on her butt until she grabbed a mesquite bush. She dug in her heels and caught traction just as the pain of a mesquite thorn stabbed into her hand. She jerked her hand from the mesquite branch, and laid there, her heart racing and breathing in quick gasps. She pulled the thorn from her hand then looked over her shoulder to see if Steve had witnessed her less than graceful beginning of her journey. She gave a sigh of relief and struggled to her feet. She picked her way down the narrow trail with each step requiring effort just to stay on her feet. Her lace-up boots skidded and slipped on the loose gravel. The three hundred foot ascension turned into four times the distance with the trail winding back and forth across the face of the bluff.
Finally reaching the bottom and flat terrain, she turned to look back and realized just how steep the climb back up would be. It was not a smooth descent, and it would be a grueling climb when the time came to climb back up the bluff. Shrugging away the worry, she turned back to the village. She pulled a bottle of water from her shoulder bag and downed half the bottle before she walked toward the end of the street where the girl was still digging the grave. When she got near the first house, she pulled her handgun out of the holster and hurried to the edge of a waist-high hurricane fence. Inside the yard was a collection of children’s toys; a small plastic playhouse, a swing set, and a sandbox. Kids. Kids that were dead or kidnapped. She walked along the edge of the fenced yard to the corner. She looked from left to right then jogged to the old woman’s house. Della glanced over her shoulder as if she could feel eyes following her progress. She wondered about the villagers. When would they rise to roam the streets looking for prey? As she neared the house, she heard the sound of a shovel being driven into the ground again and again. Della followed the sound. As she walked around the back of the house, she slid the gun back into the holster and raised both hands palms out.
“Hello?” Della stepped away from the house.
The girl jumped and raised the shovel as if to protect herself and the body of the old woman lying at her feet. "Vete!"
“Please, I’m here to help you,” Della whispered.
“No hay ayuda!” The girl fell to her knees with tears streaming down her face. “No help now.”
Della walked to her side and squatted down to wrap her arms around the girl. “I’m sorry.”
The girl wept for several minutes then finally tried to pull free. “I have to bury her. She my abuela…grandmother.”
Della stood and picked up the shovel. “I’ll help you. My name is Della. We have to hurry.”
The girl took a deep breath. “My name is Martina.” Martina got to her feet and walked toward a small shed reappearing a moment later with a second shovel.
Della began digging, all the while glancing toward the side of the house and the town beyond. Moisture left streaks of dampness through the trail dust on her ebony face. She wiped at the trickle wetness with her bare arm and announced. “When we finish, you need to come with me.”
Martina continued to dig. “This is my home.”
“It’s dead now. You can’t stay.” Della answered.
Martina explained. “I have nowhere else to go.”
“We have a safe place to go.”
“Is it far away from here? I don’t want to see those men ever again.” Her eyes began to tear up again. “My Abuela was all I had.”
“Now you have us. My friends and I will do everything we can to protect you,” Della said as she drove the shovel into the sand again.
“If you have such strong people, why did you not help the rest of the people here?” Martina asked.
“We couldn’t.” Della took a deep breath and set the shovel aside. “This is deep enough. We need to hurry.”
Martina laid her own shovel aside and walked to the body.
“I’m sorry, but I have to give her peace.” Martina gave a quick nod, then turned away while. Della walked to the wrapped bundle. She squatted at the shoulders of the body and pulled the knife from her belt. Della reached under the corner of the tarp and drove the blade into the old woman’s temple. “It’s time.” Della whispered. Martina leaned down and picked up the end of the tarp and waited for Della. She reached down and together the two women picked up the tarp-covered body. They moved the body into the grave, then quietly began filling the hole. The only sound was the shovels slamming into the loose dirt and falling on the canvas. When the grave was covered, Della stood at the side and whispered. “Do you want to say something?”
“Say what? She’s dead, and so is everyone else.” Martina turned toward the house. “Can I get clothes?”
“Sure. But we have to hurry.” Della answered.
They walked into the back door and the kitchen of the house. The smell of fresh tortillas wafted through the air along with the scent of whatever was slow cooking on the stove earlier. A stack of white tortilla sat next to a griddled on the gas stove. Della glanced around and saw a box of plastic bags. She picked up the lid of the pot at the back of the oven and her mouth watered at the aroma that wafted up from the meat and bean concoction.
Martina headed through the house toward a room off the dining room. “Have some if you want it.”
Della followed Martina into the small living room with worn carpet and threadbare sofa and armchair. Sitting on the table next to the chair was a framed photo of the old woman and Martina. A crocheted afghan hung over the back of the chair while a ball of yarn with hook nested amid ruffles of pink and blue rested on the seat of the armchair.
“We’ll take it.” Della walked back into the kitchen and to the sink to turn on the water. It warmed almost instantly. Blessed hot water. “I almost forgot what it was like to turn on a tap and have hot water.” She called out. “We need to take this food.”
“Whatever you want. There is no one here to eat it now.” Martina answered.
Della washed her han
ds and face then walked to a pantry and found a long-handled woven bag hanging on the door. Perusing the shelves, she retrieved a roll of silver duct tape, and a roll of aluminum foil then walked back to the stove. Spreading a piece of foil large enough to cover the tortillas, Della divided the twelve-inch stack into multiple stacks and wrapped each in foil then slipped them into a large plastic bags. She used a large spoon to take a big bite from the pot. After getting over the hot liquid, Della almost collapsed at the taste. She called out. “This is the best.”
“My Abuela cooked for some of the old people. I came home to deliver the food.” Martina called out. “I’m almost ready.”
“Use a backpack if you have one.” Della shoved a tortilla in her mouth and pulled a long strip of duct tape from the roll. She made a cross anchoring the lid to the top of the pot, then used another piece around the edge to seal the lid. Della turned off the burner and picked up the container and nestled it in the Mercado bag. She added the bags of tortillas on either end of the bag, then dropped the roll of tape in the bag. “Never know when the tape will come in handy.”
Martina walked into the kitchen carrying a large backpack. “I’m ready.”
Della dropped a large spoon, wrapped in a hand towel, into the bag then slipped the handles over her shoulder. “I’m good. Let me check the street.” She walked into the small living room and picked up the small framed photo then stuffed the afghan blanket into the bag. She turned to the window and pulled the curtain aside. She gasped and bolted for the kitchen. “We have to leave. NOW!” She grabbed Martina’s arm and burst through the doorway.
“Okay.” Martina stumbled after he. “What is it?”
“The people.” Della scanned the backyard then hurried toward the fence leading toward the bluff.
Martina stopped and turned toward the approaching mob. “They live!”
