“So, it’s been awhile since the thaw. People are growing their own food now, and water is no longer a problem. Why do you think they haven’t cleared the roads yet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the survivors got used to not having strangers come in and they like it that way. Or maybe they haven’t been able to set up a city government capable of overseeing such an operation. Can you imagine how much effort it would take to clear up this mess? I mean, there are several hundred, maybe even a thousand abandoned cars, big rigs and assorted equipment. Most of it will never run again. They’d have to drag each piece off, one at a time.
“And then what would they do with them?”
“I see your point.”
“Marty said that every highway going in and out of San Angelo is like this, except for the one farm road. He said it was clogged but not barricaded. For some reason when the vigilantes isolated themselves from the rest of the world, they forgot that one.”
“What did you mean, ‘prisoners they arrested’?”
“The little town we just came from, Eden, was overrun with hardened criminals. They were brutalizing the town’s citizens, raping and pillaging and killing without restraint.
“Some friends and I went in and tried our best to clean up the town by arresting the worst of them. We locked them up into the back of a big rig and Marty drove them to San Angelo for trial. Most of the rest of the gang thought we were coming back for them, and took off.
“Marty said they had a hell of a time getting into San Angelo. But I didn’t think it was this bad.”
Chapter 14
Mark returned to Hannah’s room after just a few minutes.
“They said I can’t use their radio until tonight. They said during the daytime it’s for official use only.”
“What’s not official about checking up on Sarah?”
“That’s what I asked them. They said official military business.”
“Well, pardon me.”
“I guess I can’t complain much. They’ve been treating me very well. And I couldn’t ask for a nicer group of people.”
“Whoa, this is the same bunch of people who almost killed you in a helicopter crash.”
“Accidents happen, baby. They invited us to go on their tour as a gesture of good will. If what they think happened is true, if the pilot suffered a massive heart attack, then there was no way to avoid the accident.”
“I don’t know. When you were in your coma I talked to a captain who came by to check on you. He said they were opening up a board of inquiry into the crash. They wanted to see if Colonel Montgomery broke any regulations when he had his pilot fly at treetop level at very high speed.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
“I don’t know. They just said they wanted answers.”
“For God’s sake. I know we got off on the wrong foot with Colonel Montgomery, but he turned out to be a very nice man. A little gruff, maybe. But he said he had to be that way in his line of work, and I believed him.
“And I liked him. It’s unfortunate what happened, but I don’t blame him for it. I wish they’d just drop it before they ruin a good man’s reputation.”
“I don’t see how you can not be angry. You could have died.”
Hannah turned to Joel and asked, “You got anything to add?”
“No. I’m enjoying watching the two of you fight. In fact, I think you should dump Mark over this issue. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m available.”
“Fat chance. I love the big lug too much to dump him. Sorry.”
“Well, in that case I will give you my two cents. I knew Colonel Montgomery for quite awhile. They called our crew the orphans. Because every one of us had lost everyone in our families.
“All we had left was each other. So we kind of created our own family. The colonel was gruff, as you say. But he was a good man. And he couldn’t have prevented the crash, even if he’d been sitting in the co-pilot’s seat.”
It didn’t take long for Joel Hance and Mark Snyder to become friends, despite their professed love for the same woman.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to Joel’s flirting,” Hannah told her husband. “I’ve heard that he flirts with anyone in a skirt.”
The nurse who brought Joel into Hannah’s room backed her up.
“That’s true. I’ve seen him in action and can testify to that. He’s even made passes at Nurse Ratchet.”
Joel said, “Hey, I stopped when she started flirting back.”
Then, as an afterthought, “And that’s not true. I don’t flirt with everyone in a skirt.”
“Name one woman in this hospital you haven’t proposed to or asked to honeymoon with or called ‘beautiful’ or ‘sweetheart.’”
Joel thought for a moment and was stumped.
“Well, okay. You’ve got me. But in my defense, it’s my father’s fault.”
Hannah’s jaw dropped. She was speechless.
Mark said, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“No, seriously. It’s my father’s fault. You see, he was a very good father and a very good man. Very wise for his years too.
“He taught me everything about how to be a man. Hunting, fishing, self-defense, baseball…
“But two of the most important things he taught me were about women. He said no matter where I went in life, or what I did, to always treat women with the utmost respect. Because if it weren’t for women none of us guys would be here.”
Hannah said, “True so far. Keep going.”
“He taught me that all women are beautiful. Every single one of them. Big, little, short, tall, black, white, blondes or redheads. It doesn’t matter. Every single woman is beautiful.”
Hannah said, “Still true. What was the second thing he taught you about us?”
“That you all need compliments. Continuously. He said compliments are nourishment for your souls. That just as your body needs food, your soul needs to know that you are beautiful, and desirable, and wanted, and admired.
“He said you can live for a few days without water. And you can live a few weeks without food. But that you cannot live, cannot really live, without flattery. He said that flattery, and knowing that you’re beautiful, is what puts the sparkle in a woman’s eyes. And that without that sparkle, you’re just going through the motions. Just using up your time on this earth without ever really living.
“And he said you’re not as happy. And that counts doubly for us men. Because we all know that when Mama’s not happy…”
Mark finished the sentence for him.
“Then nobody is happy.”
“Exactly. So you see, when you think I’m trying to make out with every living woman on earth… well, I am. But beyond that, I’m really providing nourishment for your souls. Enriching your lives.”
Hannah wasn’t convinced.
“But when I have a bad hair day, or a hard night’s sleep and my face is all puffy and my eyes are red, I have dark circles under my eyes and look like a raccoon. On those days I don’t feel pretty at all. If you came along and told me I was beautiful then, I wouldn’t believe you. And what good is false flattery if it’s obviously false?”
“Ah, but see, that’s the beauty of it… if you’ll pardon the pun. You’re always beautiful. It doesn’t matter that your hair’s not perfect or that you discovered a new wrinkle. You’re still the greatest creature God ever created and the reason we’re all here. And that, woman of my dreams, is beautiful.”
Hannah smiled.
“Joel, I think your father was a brilliant man.”
Mark wasn’t so complimentary.
“Joel, what I think is that you’re making the rest of us clowns look bad.
“You said your father also taught you baseball. Let’s stop all this beauty nonsense and talk ball for a while. Now there’s a beautiful subject.”
Chapter 15
For the first few days after they made it back to the Huckabees’ farmhouse, Martel wondered whether he’d hit his new
woman too hard.
He’d gone through all the trouble of tying and gagging her thinking that at some point she’d come to and struggle with him.
Or, at the very least, starting screaming her head off for help.
But she never stirred, not at all. Not all the way to the pickup, and not after he dumped her unceremoniously into the pickup’s bed, like she was nothing more than a deer’s carcass.
When he got back to the farmhouse and tossed her back over his shoulder she whimpered a bit but nothing more.
He dumped her on the floor, still naked and tied at the hands and feet. But she was no more animated than the couch behind her.
The first hour he sat in a recliner and rested. He wasn’t getting any younger, and he hadn’t lifted weights in years. In prison there wasn’t much to do, so he spent his hour of rec time each day doing bench presses. His shoulders and back had been strong and broad, his biceps and triceps matching those in muscle magazines. In those days, he felt as though he could lift a Mack truck.
But those days were long gone now. He was still stronger than most men, and had the stamina to beat most men half his age.
But carrying the woman through the forest over his shoulders, as small as she was, still took a lot out of him.
As he rested, he made a promise to himself to start spending some time on the free weights he’d found in the farmhouse’s basement.
After an hour he stretched and wondered if she’d come to faster if she was more comfortable.
He got up intending to pick her up and place her on the couch.
As he approached her, though, her body decided it could wait no longer to relieve the pressure on her bladder.
Beneath her body, a round circle of urine darkened the light brown carpet.
“What the hell?”
Had Martel known a bit about physiology, he might have known that his victim’s mind somehow knew she wasn’t just sleeping. Her mind knew her body was injured and needed to recover.
And that she wasn’t going to be waking anytime soon.
But Martel wasn’t that smart.
A powerful scent of urine permeated the room, and Martel turned up his nose.
Instead of moving her to the couch and having her soil it, he knelt down beside her and slapped her face.
“Wake up, bitch. I didn’t go through all the trouble of bringing you here so you could sleep your life away. Wake up so we can have some fun.”
But Sarah didn’t wake up. She couldn’t feel the stinging pain as Martel slapped her cheeks again and again, until they were swollen and red.
She’d lost an awful lot of blood.
Her mind was in control, and had placed her body in preservation mode.
She needed time to heal.
Martel didn’t know that. He sensed that perhaps he’d hit her too hard, but it was too late to go back.
There were no do-overs.
All he could do was hope she didn’t die before she regained consciousness.
That would be an awful shame.
For him. Not for her. Because he didn’t give a diddly damn about her.
As long as he had his naked sex slave. And someone to cook and clean and do his laundry.
“You’d better not die on me, bitch. I went through too damn much trouble to get you. I earned you, and you’re mine.”
Chapter 16
Officer Mike Petty sat in his Crown Victoria cruiser on a hill a half mile south of the San Angelo city limit sign.
He’d already radioed in to report seeing a desert brown Hummer creeping overland toward the city.
Petty had the eyes of a hawk, and they’d picked up the slowly approaching vehicle when it was more than a mile away.
“Are you sure, Mike? That sounds like the Army coming to pay us a visit.”
“Well, it’s definitely a Hummer. And it’s definitely desert brown. Too soon to find out who’s driving it, though. I’ll keep you posted.”
“You want some backup? I can have Wesley head over from the west side of town. He’s probably sleeping. ‘Bout time he did something.”
A third voice broke into the conversation.
“Hey, watch it, you lying sack. I woke up from my nap over an hour ago. I’m headed your way, Mike. I’ll be there in five, maybe ten.”
“Ten four. I’ll have him stopped by then, but I’ll hold back until you’re on scene.”
“Ten four.”
Mike had been out of the police academy barely a month when news of Saris 7 broke. He never got a chance to be a rookie. Rookies were supposed to take a back seat. Watch the more seasoned officers. Learn by copying what the veterans did.
Mike never had that option.
When Saris 7 hit the news, half the department scattered near and far. Many officers who had family members in other cities or states went to rescue them. Others felt they were doomed, and no longer felt an allegiance to the citizens of San Angelo.
They felt the need to stay home from work. To spend their last days with their wives and children.
Some bought into the rumors that there was a ray of hope. Some of the talk show hosts were quoting quack scientists who said salvation was in Central America. That the tropical countries around the equator would survive the long freeze. That they would cool but still be able to sustain crops.
And that anyone who made it that far would survive.
Hundreds of thousands of Americans loaded their cars and headed south for the Mexican border, including a fair number of San Angelo’s police force.
Mexico wasn’t used to massive numbers of people crossing into their territory. For generations it was the other way around. They weren’t equipped to handle it. And they knew that the incoming hoards would require gasoline, food and water that was already in short supply.
So they sealed their borders from the invaders from the north.
And what followed was a traffic jam which made the one Bryan and Bryan Too were driving past look like nothing.
The traffic jam leading north from the Mexican border crossings stretched for hundreds of miles. Desperate drivers crossed over into the opposite lanes of traffic and caused accidents. Accidents which blocked the northbound lanes as well.
By the time word got out over all the radio stations to turn back, every highway going into Mexico was a parking lot of trapped vehicles.
It was a dreadful and very ugly situation.
The drivers and their families were trapped in their cars with few options.
The ones within walking distance of the border crossing walked into Mexico with whatever they could carry. The Mexican border guards were overwhelmed and didn’t try to stop them.
But no one would help them, either. Almost all of them would perish within days.
Others had the option of abandoning their cars and walking back to the nearest city. Most of them perished as well.
Many didn’t even try. Easily twenty percent of the cars contained the dead bodies of families who’d given up. They’d run their heaters until the fuel was all gone while waiting for help to arrive. And they’d frozen to death, because help wasn’t coming.
Or they’d shot themselves to death.
Those families who had no guns or ammunition waited until they heard a flurry of shots from one of the other cars.
Then they scurried over to retrieve the weapon to use on their own loved ones.
Mike Petty wasn’t one of the poor souls who’d bought into the whole Central America sanctuary thing. It just sounded fishy to him.
He’d sat down with his wife and asked her opinion. She said she didn’t want to leave her home when she was seven months pregnant.
They decided to stick it out.
So Mike and Patty had done what many of the other holdouts had done. They raided the abandoned trucks and markets for supplies, and moved into an abandoned house which had a fireplace. For heat they used chainsaws to cut down all the trees in the neighborhood. When those were gone they started tearing down other abandone
d houses.
It had been rough. But they’d survived.
Until a month into the third year of the freeze.
That was when marauders invaded their home while Mike was at work.
They could have just taken what they wanted and left Patty and two year old Megan in peace.
But instead they’d chosen to slaughter them.
It was on that day that Officer Mike Petty joined The Movement.
Oh, he was still a San Angelo Police officer. And a good one at that.
For he’d learned the hard way how to be a cop. While the city was falling apart all around him.
That day he’d come from a hard day at work, recovering bodies and burning them in the street, he’d found the bodies of his own wife and baby. And he’d decided that enough was enough.
He’d given them a proper burial. Prayed over their graves in the back yard of their home. Cried and cursed the heavens.
Then he went to see a fellow officer, Kevin Patton, who’d been recruiting good officers for The Movement.
The Movement was a group of men and women who were tired of outsiders coming in and taking what they wanted, then leaving a trail of blood and tears in their wake.
Some called them vigilantes. Others called them patriots. To the members of The Movement, they were nothing more than citizens.
Citizens who’d had enough.
A few days after he’d sworn his allegiance to the group, someone asked him: “Isn’t it a conflict of interest to be a police officer and a member of The Movement?”
“No,” he’d told them. “There’s no reason I can’t do both. In fact, I think it’s a good thing to have some officers on the inside, so the members don’t cross too many lines, or get out of hand. They call us vigilantes. Well, maybe by being there I can keep them from being so.”
That next day he’d gone east, on Interstate 20, five miles from the center of town, and helped a group of twenty men build an impassible roadblock.
To keep outsiders outside.
The Search Page 5
