by Chris Pike
Amanda shrugged, turned her back to Nipper and said, “Okay, your choice. You get to walk. It’ll do you good and you can burn off some energy.”
Nipper observed Chandler offering a hand to Amanda, helping her onto her horse.
“Ride ‘em Cowboy!” Chandler said. He prodded Cowboy with a kick in the flanks, and a few strides later, the horses and their riders disappeared beyond the tree line.
It was quiet where Nipper sat, confused. Tentatively, he looked around and tasted the air, letting the stick fall to the ground. A raccoon had trotted along the fence line, leaving a pile of scat. A musty-smelling armadillo had rooted for grubs and other worms in the yard during the night, leaving disturbed soil. A breeze brushed the trees and brown, frost-bitten leaves floated to the ground. The grass rustled and Nipper turned in that direction. The house still had scent traces of Amanda and Chandler, and Nipper gauged whether he should stay and wait. He padded up the porch stairs and stood there with hopeful eyes, scanning the road. A minute went by, then another, and Nipper was gripped with confusion.
Movement on the road!
It was Amanda and Chandler riding toward him. When Amanda whistled for Nipper, he jumped off the porch, raced through the grass, and with a mixture of relief and gleefulness he let Amanda scoop him up and put him in the carrier.
With the excitement over, he settled into the carrier and closed his eyes. The steady gait of the horse, the warmth the massive beast provided, and the comforting voices of Amanda and Chandler lulled Nipper to sleep.
* * *
The weary and cold travelers trudged on. The hours dragged on, their minds drugged from the cold and monotonous trip.
A lone coyote stood on a rise in a nearby pasture and spied them with vague curiosity before it slunk back into the dark shadows of the tree canopy lining a dry branch.
A man stooped over from carrying a large backpack walked alone on the vacant country road. He suspiciously eyed Chandler and Amanda as he neared them, giving them a wide berth without a saying a word. Nipper sensed the man’s uneasiness, and when he came close, Nipper growled low in his throat, sending a clear warning to the man he wasn’t wanted.
A group of two men and one woman came running up to Chandler and Amanda, begging for help, and when Chandler was forced to stop, a man tried to pull off one of their bags containing food supplies. Chandler pulled a gun and fired a warning shot, yelling, “The next shot will hit its target! So get back!”
The three dispersed.
“So many desperate people,” Amanda commented. “I wish we could help them.”
“We can’t,” Chandler said. “It’s too dangerous.”
The minutes droned on, hours passed.
Another day of monotonous travel came and went, lulling Amanda and Chandler into a dull routine of riding, stopping, eating, and making camp.
Clouds floated in the winter sky, a buzzard lifted off from a tree at the sight of the weary travelers. A hawk circled above, scanning the pasture for a hapless mouse or perhaps an inattentive dove.
They traveled through ghostly empty rural towns, the horses’ clomping hooves echoing along the deserted streets. Merchants had boarded up the windows to their shops. Banks sat dark and empty. The plate glass window of a town’s lone grocery store was a shattered mess on the sidewalk. A tourist shop had been looted of t-shirts and jams, and homemade packages of chili and cake mix. Food was obviously scarce.
Amanda and Chandler rode side by side. They were on a rarely traveled road that didn’t even garner a white stripe down the middle. A truck had been pushed to the side and when Chandler passed it, he looked inside for anything useful. Finding nothing, they continued on.
Pastures segued into woodland, thick with trees and brush.
Amanda kept her eyes on the road, bored at the wearisome view. A puzzling frown spread across her face as she looked ahead. She squinted, trying to understand what she was seeing. A hundred yards ahead of them, a small, indistinguishable form was in the road.
It moved.
“Chandler, do you see that?” She pointed in the direction she was looking. “Is that a kid in the middle of the road?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been looking at it too.”
They rode closer to the form.
“It is a child! We have to help.” Amanda kicked Indian to encourage her horse to move faster.
“Don’t! Wait!” Chandler yelled.
Amanda ignored Chandler’s warning. Her horse was already yards in front. He spurred Cowboy, and the horse took off running.
Amanda reined in her horse, jumped off, and went to the child. The toddler couldn’t be more than eighteen months old. His face was red and wet with tears. He shivered and held out his arms to Amanda. A motherly instinct captured Amanda and she gazed upon the child with a feeling she didn’t know she had.
She bent over to pick up the child. “You poor ba—”
A crowd of armed men rushed out from behind a large oak. A bullet whizzed by Chandler.
“Don’t hit the horses!” one of the men yelled. “We need them and the supplies.”
More shots rang out.
The toddler started screaming.
Amanda ducked and ran behind Cowboy, using him for cover. She drew her Glock and fired. The first round missed its target, while the second round caught a man in the thigh. He let out a scream and went down.
Errant bullets whizzed by.
Cowboy neighed and stomped his front hooves.
Chandler drew his Glock and in one deft motion, brought the gun up and fired a round at the closest man. He stumbled and fell backwards.
Chandler let loose another deadly round. The man went down. He popped a round straight into another guy.
“There’s more coming!” Chandler yelled. “Let’s get outta here!”
Amanda clambered up Cowboy, swung her leg over, and clenched her arms around Chandler’s waist. “Go!”
Chandler swung Cowboy around.
Amanda emptied her gun at the crowd. When the slide on her Glock clicked back, she continued to fire, unaware the magazine was empty.
Indian was wild eyed and struggled against the riotous crowd clamoring around the horse. The crowd stripped food and water and other supplies from the horse. It was a free for all as the people crowded the horse who had been overwhelmed at the sheer amount of bodies. There was nothing Amanda or Chandler could do.
The crying child had been knocked over on his back. Stunned from the impact, the child put his thumb in his mouth, sucking on it.
Cowboy galloped away from the chaotic din, his steps heavy and solid on the road. He steadily put distance between them and the crowd, running without caution, and when they were far away, Chandler eased him into a slow trot.
“Amanda, are you okay? Are you injured?” Chandler asked.
“I’m okay,” Amanda replied. “I’m a little rattled, that’s all. What kind of person would use a baby as a trap?”
“Desperate people, that’s who. Amanda, regardless of what you see, you have to assume it’s a trap. We were living in a bubble at Holly’s ranch house. We were safe, armed, and we all had each other’s backs. We had food to eat and we all worked together for a goal. We worked together to survive. Out here,” Chandler said, sweeping his arm to make a point, “we’re strangers. We’re nothing to those people who now have Indian and our extra supplies. We had what they wanted, and they were prepared to use force to take it. Including using a baby as bait. It’s despicable.”
“I’m sorry,” Amanda said. She hung her head. “I’ll be careful next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Chandler said. “Not if I can help it.”
Chapter 8
After the harrowing encounter, Amanda and Chandler had been on edge, and Cowboy was showing the strain of carrying two people, a dog, and supplies. At times, Chandler walked, giving the horse a rest.
They had left the towering pines of the East Texas Piney Woods behind, and were now entering a transi
tion zone of the Colorado River valley with hills dotted with smaller oaks and loblolly pines where rainfall wasn’t as abundant as in East Texas. By car, Austin, which was nestled in Hill Country of stunted oaks and scrubby cedars, was only an hour’s drive away. By horse, another long day.
They passed a farmer tilling fertile soil using a disc plow and harrow pulled by a horse, and invented by a hardy Norwegian who had settled in the Hill Country in the 1850s. The 19th century invention was making a comeback.
“That looks like hard work,” Amanda commented. The horse struggled to drag the plow, and the farmer didn’t bother to look up at the passing travelers.
“Commonplace back in the 1800s,” Chandler said. “I’m guessing the farmer must have had a modern tractor that the EMP made useless.
“So this is how it’s going to be?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Fortunately, the guy has land. Most aren’t as lucky.”
“What about your family? How do you think they are doing?”
“Considering they’ve got a house on the Colorado River, they should be okay. The house was an old homestead my great-grandparents settled on in the late 1880s. It still has antiques from several generations, including a Victrola.”
“What’s that?”
“You should know what that is,” Chandler said. “Doesn’t Nipper come to mind?”
“Huh?”
“The RCA Victor dog? That’s who Nipper was named after, right?
“Yeah, but what’s a Victrola?” Amanda asked.
“It’s an old-timey record player. You have to crank it to get the turntable to spin. The needle is huge so you have to be careful. Me and my brother used to play with it when we were kids.”
“It still works?”
“Yes. It doesn’t need electricity. As long as you have records, it will play.”
“Maybe when we get to your parents’ house, we can listen to music?”
“I’ll take you for a spin.” Chandler said. He laughed. “Get it? Spin?”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “I get it. And yes, I’d like to go for a spin.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get home.”
“Me too,” Amanda said. She dropped her shoulders. “I wish I had a home to go to.”
“Don’t be sad,” Chandler said. “My parents will love you. Because if I…” Chandler trailed off before he verbally announced his private thoughts.
Amanda remained silent until curiosity got the best of her. “Because of what?”
“Nothing,” Chandler said without much conviction. “My parents are great people. I know they’ll love you. And you’ll like my brother Luke.”
“But I’m not staying with you for long. I’m supposed to go to my great aunt’s ranch.”
“It’s not like she’s expecting you. Stay with us for a while. I’d like you to stay.”
Amanda thought about what Chandler said and the underlying meaning. During their time at Holly’s ranch, Chandler had never made a move on her, even though there had been plenty of opportunity for him to do so. There was a reticence about him, and for a guy of his size and the fact he was ex-military, his reluctance surprised her. From the moment she laid eyes on him in the barn when she surprised him, she had felt an immediate attraction, and she was sure he felt the same. He was a strong, capable man, one who was honest and told it like it was. They were traits she admired, and Lord knew she had been lied to by Zack. Just the thought of him made her skin crawl, and the closer she got to Austin, the more Zack was on her mind.
The trip had allowed too much time for her mind to wander, and Amanda felt as if she was a vagabond without a place to call home. After her parents had died, living with her grandfather felt like she was only marking time until her life really started. Like her life was hold. Oh sure, she had her own bedroom, and her grandfather had welcomed her with open arms, but it wasn’t the same.
Thinking about her grandfather made Amanda sad, and as she thought about his death and how he died, her breathing became uneven and she blinked fast. Embarrassed by the show of emotion, she swiped under her eyes with a quick brush of the back of her hand.
With her hands wrapped around his waist, Chandler felt her uneven breathing and heard her sniffling. Even Cowboy sensed the change in her demeanor, and he adjusted his trotting to a slower, less jarring pace. Nipper raised his head out of the carrier and nosed Amanda’s leg, wanting to comfort her. She scratched him behind the ears.
Trying to deflect her sadness, Chandler said, “I forgot to tell you about the house. It’s not much to write home about, and is dwarfed by huge modern houses. My dad wanted to tear down the old house, but my mom didn’t want to. As my mom said, their property taxes are a whole lot lower than the neighboring houses. The land is fertile, and the pecan trees are huge. Bigger than they were at Holly’s place.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s the Colorado River that makes them so big. The pecans should be ripe by now. I’ll make a fire in the fireplace and we’ll sit around and hull pecans together. God, I can’t wait to get home.”
* * *
It had now been five nights of riding and six long days of being in the cold wind since Amanda and Chandler had left the comfort and safety of Holly’s ranch. Weariness etched furrowed lines in the young features of her face reddened by the sun and wind. The humid conditions of East Texas relented to the dryer atmosphere of Central Texas.
An hour earlier, she had taken the reins to Cowboy as Chandler had suggested.
“It’ll do you good to take the reins,” he’d said. “Makes you feel like you’re in control to drive.” It hadn’t been an entirely altruistic gesture since Chandler liked how Amanda and he fit together riding double, especially with her in front.
“How much longer to Austin?” she asked for the fourth time that day. They were coming to the end of their trip and Amanda had been asking Chandler the question as much as an impatient child would ask a parent during a long car ride.
“We’ll be there tomorrow,” Chandler replied.
“I’ll meet your parents?”
“Yes.”
“And brother?”
“Yes, why?”
“You’ll see.”
“What are you—”
“Hang on!” Amanda shouted.
Amanda spurred Cowboy into an all-out gallop. Caught by surprise, Chandler jerked back, holding his arms tight around Amanda’s tiny waist. Amanda crouched lower and held the reins tight in her hands as Cowboy’s sturdy legs gobbled more distance.
“What are you doing? You’re going to get us killed!” Chandler yelled. “You need to slow down!”
Amanda ignored his protests, and hundred yards later when she drew Cowboy to a halt, Chandler was none too happy about what she had done or where she had stopped.
Chapter 9
“The answer is no,” Chandler said. “We’re not stopping here.”
Amanda had seen a green highway sign advertising gas and local eateries, but it was the Packsaddle Inn Bed and Breakfast sign which caught her attention, along with the irresistible promise of Hot Baths, Hot Food, and Homemade Jellies and Jams.
At one time the Packsaddle Inn had been a stately mansion, constructed during the early 1900s by a large landowner who boasted about having the grandest house in the county.
Fast forward to when the larger ranches were divided into smaller tracts and with urban sprawl taking its toll, the Victorian style house had been converted to a bed and breakfast.
It was painted baby blue with white trimming, had a steeply pitched red roof, floor to ceiling windows, and a porch with white lattice work extending along the front part of the house. The three chimneys were made of red brick, and smoke wafted in the winter air. Several large maple trees on the property had dropped their summer foliage, leaving a carpet of rusty leaves upon the ground.
“Amanda,” Chandler said pointedly, “we’re not stopping here.”
“We already have.”
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“Swinging her right leg over the saddle horn and taking her left foot out of the stirrup, she held onto the horn with both hands and slid down the large horse. Raising her arms over her head, she clasped her hands together and stretched, leaning to one side, then the other. When finished, she unzipped Nipper’s carrier, picked him up, and set him on the ground.
Nipper sniffed the air, his wet nose twitching, taking in the smell of a feral cat hiding in the dense foliage of a large dormant azalea bush near the house. Meat cooking over a backyard grill piqued his interest and stimulated his saliva glands. An unusual smell drifted along a languid air current and Nipper’s mind whirled trying to identify the odd odor. It required further investigation, but when he went in that direction Amanda raced after him and tapped him on his rump. She said a firm, “No,” followed by “Stay.” Nipper obeyed and sat on his haunches, waiting for instruction.
The unusual odor lingered.
Nipper raised his nose in the air, sniffing. The odor worried him. He had never smelled it before and his mind whirled trying to place it, dismissing each memory associated with different odors that his world consisted of. It wasn’t an animal. Possibly human, but it smelled off. It was something different…something that definitely aroused his curiosity.
“We can’t stay,” Chandler said. “If this place was so popular don’t you think there’d be more people here? We’re the only ones. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
Amanda put her hands on her hips and challenged Chandler. “No, I don’t think it’s odd. How would they be able to get the word out? Can’t exactly advertise on the internet, can they?”
“We’re still not—”
Amanda waved him off. “I’m hungry, we’ve lost our supplies, I haven’t had a bath in days, and I look and smell like something the cat dragged in. Or rather the dog in my case.” She tapped Nipper to get his attention.
Nipper cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. Sensing her displeasure, he sunk to the ground, his nose still twitching, trying to identify the odor.
