The Alpha Chronicles

by Joe Nobody

  She reached for the door as Nick said, “Good luck. I’ll be standing by.”

  Terri approached the edge of the market, trying to measure her stride and appear casual. The tables, booths, and vendor display areas were bustling with activity as the shopkeepers went about setting out their wares. Her first observation was everything looked normal.

  Meandering toward The Manor, Terri noted three strangers talking with Pete and Betty on the sidewalk. Something wasn’t quite right. Pete’s body language was stiff, and Betty seemed nervous. Switching her focus to the men she didn’t recognize, she immediately noticed one of them carried a pistol, the holstered weapon peeking out as the fellow raised his arm to point.

  Almost everyone in Meraton was armed, by either shouldering a rifle or carrying a sidearm on a belt, so that observation wasn’t especially concerning. What she saw next made her heart race.

  Two men approached the strangers, casually walking along and apparently doing a little window-shopping. Both of the gentlemen wore revolvers on their belts. When they approached the group surrounding Pete, one of the strangers moved to intercept the shoppers, his hand moving closer to the weapon at his waist. The large stranger also stepped in the same direction. They’re bodyguards; Terri sensed immediately, they’re protecting the older man. He’s in charge.

  The two shoppers evidently felt the intimidation and changed their direction to keep their distance.

  Terri continued through the market, slowly sauntering by several tables while pretending to shop. Other than the three men talking with Pete and Betty, she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Cutting down a side street, she found a quiet spot and pulled the radio from under her maternity blouse.

  “Nick, are you there?”

  “I’m here, Terri. What’s going on?”

  “There’s definitely something weird here. I see three hard-core strangers on Main Street, and everyone is nervous around them. It reminds me of when the bank robbers were in town. People avoided them or looked away. Other than that, everything looks completely normal.”

  “Our teams are still about three minutes from moving in. Is it safe for you to keep scouting?”

  “Yes, no one has even noticed me. The market is alive with activity right now, so I can easily sneak around a bit more. If I see anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  Terri slowly made her way down Main, her eyes always watching the group surrounding Pete and Betty. Pete’s body language clearly showed he was nervous around the men, his motions animated - just a little more rapid than normal. She scanned the rooftops, checked the side streets, and even managed a peek inside The Manor’s gardens. Everything seemed as it should except for the three men with Pete and Betty.

  As Terri approached, two children ran past laughing. The little one’s mother was close behind, trying to catch up with the excited youth. The encounter changed Terri’s perspective as she looked around the market. There are women and children all over the place, she thought. If somebody starts shooting, people are going to get hurt. A lot of people are going to get hurt.

  “Nick, I can’t find anything out of the ordinary except for those three guys. I’ve looked high and low. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

  “Suggestions?” squawked the radio’s small speaker.

  “The market looks like any other day, Nick. Maybe I’m missing something. Why don’t you come in? Maybe bring another man with you and see for yourself?”

  “Okay, on our way.”

  Five minutes later Nick and one of his men arrived, making eye contact with Terri across the street. The trio met up in front of a booth selling used clothing, and Terri pretended to browse while Nick’s eyes scanned the street.

  “Wow,” the big man commented, “two of those guys standing beside Pete are some serious protection. But you’re right; I don’t see anything else wrong.”

  “Do you think they’re holding Pete and Betty hostage or something?”

  “Hard to tell, but given the message we received and how things look, I’d say that’s a possibility.”

  Terri folded a shirt and placed it back on the table, smiling at the vendor. She and Nick turned away, and pretended to head to the next stall.

  “I can get near to them. I don’t think they’ll pay much attention to a woman, especially a pregnant one.”

  “You saying you want to try and take them down quietly? I don’t know about that, Terri. That’s always difficult to do. Well trained teams of professionals struggle with that sort of operation.”

  “If I can get behind them, and you approach from the front, we can find out what’s going on real quick. I think it beats flooding the town with 50 guys brandishing weapons.”

  Nick thought about her suggestion and had to agree. It just didn’t seem like anything was seriously wrong in Meraton, and there were numbers of innocents roaming the streets.

  “Okay, I’ll follow your lead. Be careful.”

  Terri split off from Nick and his man, slowly making her way along the avenue. Browsing goods, asking a quick question of a vendor, she tried to act like the typical marketplace customer. Her pulse quickened as she approached what Bishop would surely call the “objective,” her mind questioning the wisdom of the entire affair more than once.

  Slim didn’t care about the conversation taking place between the bartender, Mr. Beltran, and the hotel manager. The three of them had been comparing the differences and similarities of their respective business models for 15 minutes, and he had lost interest long ago.

  His job was to protect Mr. Beltran and the boss’ insistence on standing out in the open with so many armed people walking around was grating on his nerves. Still, the people on the street seemed peaceful enough, most of them uninterested in Mr. Beltran or the ongoing debate.

  Butter didn’t seem to mind, the big guy’s attention occasionally drifting off, focusing on a passerby or some other activity in the market. But that’s just Butter, he thought. If there’s trouble, I know he’s got my back, but he won’t be the first one to see it coming. That’s my job.

  Movement caught Slim’s eye, and he glanced up to see a woman walking down the street in his direction. Tensing for just a moment, he relaxed as he noticed her hands were empty, and she was with child. He normally would have moved to block such a close passage to his boss, but decided to give the lady a break and let her continue down the sidewalk – his western sense of honor giving special consideration for a woman in her condition.

  He immediately dismissed the pregnant lady when he saw a very large, physically fit gentleman crossing the street on a vector that would bring him close to Mr. Beltran. Butter saw it too and moved to intercept. Slim’s heart jumped just a little when a third man appeared around the corner, his purposeful stride heading right at the boss.

  Butter blocked the big guy’s path four steps away from Mr. Beltran, the tall cowboy meeting the newcomer eye to eye. “Good morning, sir,” Butter managed to say while holding up his hand in a semi-friendly gesture. Nick smiled, and then both of his hands shot out and grabbed Butter’s wrist.

  Several things happened at once. Butter’s wrestling instincts and raw physical strength surprised Nick. Rather than the man going immediately down, Butter twisted perfectly and moved his free arm to block Nick’s hold. The ex-operator countered by throwing his leg behind his opponents, and both men collapsed in a heap - right in the middle of the street.

  Slim, having confidence in Butter’s ability to disable his foe, drew his weapon, and shoved it in the face of the third member of Nick’s team.

  For a few moments, everyone’s attention seemed to be drawn to the wrestling match. Nick decided grappling with the big, amazingly strong cowboy wasn’t such a good idea and began to strike. Butter, shocked at how skilled his opponent seemed to be, arrived at the same strategy. Fists, elbows, and palms flew through the air as the whirling ball of tangled combatants rolled across the pavement. Thuds and grunts sounded as blows landed and counter strikes were
thrown.

  It was the sound of Mr. Beltran’s voice splitting the air that stopped the contest. “Butter! Stop!”

  Everyone turned to see Terri standing with her pistol pointed behind Mr. Beltran’s ear, the old rancher’s hands in the air.

  She nodded toward Slim. “Put that weapon down, or I’ll shoot this man.”

  Slim’s eyes darted between Terri and the man he had covered, all the while thinking, Fuck! The damned pregnant woman…I can’t believe I fell for that one!

  Pete’s voice interrupted the standoff. “Terri? What the hell are you doing, Terri? Put that gun down right now. That’s Mr. Carlos Beltran you’re poking with that piece.”

  Terri threw a glance at Betty, her friend smiling and nodding. “It’s okay, Terri. Everything’s fine.”

  Terri looked from face to face, obviously confused. “Pete, are you sure? We received a message over the HAM radio. We thought Meraton was under attack.”

  “What are you talking about? We sent a message saying Mr. Beltran had a problem, but no one’s under attack. Please put the gun away.”

  Slowly, Terri lowered her weapon, and everyone exhaled. Slim did the same with his iron, his eyes still focused on the pistol that had been touching his boss’ head. Nick disengaged from Butter, the two men wearily eyeing each other while straightening their clothing and brushing off road dust.

  Mr. Beltran slowly turned to face Terri, reaching to tip his hat. “Carlos Beltran, ma’am. Nice to meet you… I think.”

  Everyone laughed, and then Terri tucked her pistol away, an embarrassed look on her face.

  Not knowing what else to do, Terri gave Nick a helpless look and noticed he was bleeding from the nose and a sporting a cut on his cheek. Moving to check on her friend, she said, “Nick, you’re hurt. Let me take a look.”

  “I’m okay,” grunted the big man while throwing a glance at Butter. “I had it under control.”

  “Bullshit,” responded the ranch hand, spitting a mouth full of blood onto Main Street. “But I’ve got to admit – you’re as strong as an ox. Where’d you learn to wrestle like that?”

  Nick shook his head while wiping his nose-blood on his sleeve. “I was getting ready to ask you the same, exact question. Lawd have mercy; you’re a handful.”

  Within a few minutes, hands were being shaken and apologies exchanged. The miscommunication was cleared up as everyone regretted the entire affair.

  “Might as well salvage what we can out of this,” Nick observed. “I’m going to radio my men and tell them everything’s okay. Hell, we can even let them shop at the market for an hour or so before we head back to Alpha.”

  Chapter 6

  Alpha, Texas

  January 25, 2016

  The truck’s original purpose had been to haul gravel and other miscellaneous fill for the Texas Department of Transportation, or TEX-DOT. The dual-axle, diesel powered behemoth was capable of carrying almost 40,000 pounds of payload inside its 15-foot long steel bed and had served the local highway maintenance crew well for over 200,000 miles.

  To the men operating the checkpoint, the image of a large truck approaching wasn’t anything new. Over the past few weeks, every conceivable type of transport had passed by their location. The virtual parade of newcomers arrived via long-haul semis, horse-drawn wagons, bicycles and every type of vehicle imaginable.

  Just a few days ago, two men leading a pair of fully loaded Army mules plodded right up to the checkpoint. The beasts were burdened with a mismatch of boxes, suitcases, tarps, and bags, all of the cargo crisscrossed with scraps of rope and baling twine. There was even a metal drinking cup hanging from one animal, each footfall generating a musical pinging sound that somehow added to its character. Someone had facetiously inquired if the two travelers had been prospecting, but the joke had fallen flat.

  Even when the approaching truck cleared the heat mirages distorting the atmosphere, it still wasn’t worthy of note or concern. Nick had set up the checkpoint to help the flow of refugees, not as a roadblock. Two pickup trucks sat parked at careful angles, their spacing requiring a motor vehicle to slow and steer around them, but anyone could pass through. While armed, the volunteers who worked the checkpoints were more akin to greeters than sentries.

  “He better slow down,” observed one of the volunteers as he stepped out of the shade to welcome whoever was driving the big truck.

  “Are those people riding in the bed?” asked his partner.

  The response was a bit slow in coming because both men realized something just wasn’t right. The drone of the approaching diesel engine was increasing, and odd shapes resembling human heads appeared over the front edge of the bed. Twinkling flashes soon followed.

  “Get down!”

  The warning came as several bullets slammed into the ground near the two watchmen. Diving for cover while trying to ready their weapons, both men stared in horror as the massive, accelerating truck slammed into the first and then the second pickup. The checkpoint’s vehicles were no match for the kinetic energy imparted by an 18,000-pound steel ram traveling at close to 60 mph. Both the new Ford 150 and the classic 1954 Chevy pickup were flung aside like Matchbox toys, the more recent model rolling over twice before coming to a stop in the desert sand.

  One of the volunteers was pinned beneath his own vehicle, his scream drowned out by the deafening protest of crushed metal, racing engine, and discharging rifles. The surviving man stood for better vantage and reached for the 2-way radio on his belt.

  “Alpha! Alpha! We have a dump truck full of several men heading for the center of town and shooting multiple weapons. J.J.’s hurt! I need medical help.”

  Diana was in the church office, discussing work assignments with a group of volunteers. When distant popping noises reached her ears, the deacon stopped talking and raised her head for a brief moment but wasn’t concerned – with the amount of hunting and the slaughter of cattle in town, gunfire didn’t necessarily mean trouble. The panicked radio call quickly changed her demeanor.

  Racing for the front of the building, she paused to gather up her own rifle and a small bag. There was already a full magazine in the AR15 and several more ready in the satchel. Hesitating for the first few steps while draping the strap over her shoulder, the town’s mayor was running at full speed in seconds.

  As Diana bounded down the church’s front steps, she spied two men climbing into a waiting golf cart, gun barrels pointing into the air. Yelling for them to hold up, Diana jumped onto the back bumper and signaled the driver to floor it.

  Additional gunshots rang out in the distance. Their echo, combined with a woman’s scream and the muffled roar of a big diesel engine, told the driver which general direction to steer. The small, almost silent cart raced for the center of town, the bedlam of conflict seemingly emanating from the courthouse.

  Along the way, Diana noticed several men and a few women heading in the same general direction – all of them with determined expressions accompanied by loaded guns. The town’s recollection of being overrun by ruthless, escaped convicts was still at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

  Before the electric cart could travel the 12 blocks to the courthouse, the echoes of disturbance seemed to fade away. For a moment, Diana held out hope that it was all some sort of misunderstanding. As they approached Main Street, those thoughts were quickly dashed.

  Men, women, and children scurried from porch to pedestal, seeking shelter from the angry reverberation of the oversized vehicle and the impending rain of bullets pelleting the buildings adjacent to the courthouse. As the city’s center came into view, Diana determined that a colossal dump truck had crashed through a hedgerow, two parking meters, and a trash can, finally rolling over a landscape island of crepe myrtles in front of the building’s main entrance.

  Pointing to an alleyway, Diana instructed the driver to stash the cart. All three responders climbed out and carefully began making their way closer to the disturbance. Using any available cover, the trio dodged from park
ed car to fire hydrant to building doorway as they sought a reasonable vantage point. They were soon joined by a fourth man who approached them hastily, motioning for Diana to stay put.

  Between gulps of breath, the man reported that the dump truck had deposited at least a dozen armed men into the courthouse. The witness went on to say that he hadn’t seen anyone leave the building since the invasion.

  Before the panting man could continue, movement across the street drew Diana’s attention. Behind the bumper of a nearby car, Bishop adjusted his position to get a better vantage through his riflescope.

  “I thought you were at the ranch,” she yelled.

  “I just got back,” Bishop replied. “Don’t you guys ever have a quiet day around here?”

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Diana glanced at the rest of her party and issued instructions to them. “These guys seem to have concentrated all their energies on the courthouse. Let’s coordinate our efforts and surround the building to force their hand. Radio me if you see any movement. Engage the potential witnesses to find out how many of our folks were inside when these intruders overran the building.”

  Without waiting for any acknowledgement, Diana ducked low and dashed across the street to join Bishop.

  “What is going on?” Bishop queried, not having any awareness of the event prior to the last five minutes.

  “I’m not certain, but from what I can piece together, that truck busted through the checkpoint and made a beeline for the courthouse. You can see as well as I can it didn’t show any respect for our parking laws. A witness just informed me that close to a dozen armed guys jumped out and ran into the courthouse. That’s all I know.”

  “Why? What are they after? Any clues?”

  “No idea, Bishop. I have a funny feeling we’ll find out soon enough. I’ll also predict we won’t like the answer to that question.”

  A funny look crossed Bishop’s face, and then he turned and locked his gaze at Diana. The mayor almost recoiled from his stare. This man doesn’t resemble my friend, she thought. It’s his eyes. Dark, predator-like eyes without soul or fear.