The Alpha Chronicles

by Joe Nobody

  So down I-10 they traveled, barreling along in the stolen HUMVEE and heading east for Katy. One little problem occurred a few hours after their departure, however. That diesel engine under the hood of the military vehicle consumed a lot of fuel, and no one had counted on gas stations no longer being an option. They had walked 12 miles to Midland Station, the HUMVEE pushed off the road and hidden until they could find, steal, or earn some fuel.

  Nick was helping Kevin clean his rifle when the radio transmission came in. “Nick, this is Corey at the north end roadblock. Are you there?”

  Nick unhooked the portable from his belt and acknowledged the call.

  “Strangest thing just happened. We had three healthy looking guys walk up to the checkpoint. They were wearing civilian clothes that looked cleaner than mine…accessorized with military-issued packs. They claimed to have walked from a relative’s house up by Fort Davidson, but there wasn’t any dirt or dust on their boots.”

  Nick thought about the description for a moment and hit the push-to-talk button. “Maybe they cleaned themselves off before coming into town. Maybe they wanted to make a good impression on someone.”

  The response was almost immediate. “That could be. As they were walking off, one of them turned around and asked if I knew a guy named Bishop.”

  Corey had Nick’s attention now. “Go on.”

  “When I told him I did know of a Bishop, the guy asked me if he was in Alpha. Claimed Bishop was an old Army buddy of his and wanted to look him up.”

  Nick walked away from the workbench, staring into the distance. “Were these guys military?”

  “I would say yes. Short hair, the right age range, and in pretty good condition.”

  Nick’s voice sounded strained. “Weapons?”

  Corey was now becoming nervous, no doubt wondering if he had done something wrong. “Well, that’s just the thing. I noticed the outline of a rifle barrel protruding from one of the packs. I told the guy he didn’t have to hide anything – that weapons were allowed in Alpha. I thought he was going to freak for a second when I mentioned the gun.”

  Nick turned to Kevin who had been listening to every word. “Go warn Bishop… right now… hurry.”

  Kevin answered “Yes, sir,” as he ran out the doorway.

  Corey transmitted again, “Nick, did I mess up?”

  Nick shook his head even though the man at the other end of the conversation couldn’t see it. “No, no you didn’t do anything wrong. As a matter of fact, I appreciate your being so observant. We’ll let Bishop know to watch his back. You did the right thing by contacting me.”

  “We sent them to the courthouse. They should be getting there about now to check in.”

  “Okay, Corey. Thanks for the heads up. Nick out.”

  Nick hefted his rifle and shoved in a magazine. He grabbed two spares from the workbench and headed for the door. A single bound down the front steps left him beside the golf cart, within seconds speeding toward the courthouse.

  A short time later, he arrived, the scene seeming like a typical day. The volunteers were at their usual stations, ready to help the new arrivals. While the inflow had slowed somewhat, Alpha still received 25-35 new refugees a day.

  Nick slung his rifle and approached the main reception station. The three ladies looked up and smiled. “What brings you here today, Nick?”

  “I was wondering if three young men checked in recently. Say, the last 10-15 minutes?”

  The women all looked at each other and then checked the clipboards full of paperwork sitting in front of them. “No,” one of the ladies answered, “we had a single older man and a family with a 17-year old boy, but that’s been it.”

  Nick looked to the north, hoping to see the three men walking toward the courthouse. There wasn’t any sign of the strangers. “Okay, thanks, ladies. If three younger men do check in, will you ask someone to radio me and let me know they’re here?”

  “Sure, Nick. Is there a problem?”

  “I don’t think so, but I just want to be certain.”

  With that, Nick waved farewell and began walking toward the north, pulling his rifle around to the ready. While Alpha was as free a society as one could imagine, there were a few rules. When the men working the checkpoints instructed a newcomer of the need to check-in at the courthouse, it was expected for people to comply.

  If these guys didn’t show up soon, Nick had the excuse he needed to become inquisitive. Nick grunted. And I can be very inquisitive, he thought. Continuing toward the northern roadblock, he reached the point where he could see the barrier off in the distance. Corey and two other men were sitting in the shade of their golf carts, that approach to Alpha not having any traffic at the moment.

  Nick couldn’t see anyone walking between him and the outpost. They’ve disappeared, he thought. The big man pivoted and headed back for the church, hoping Kevin had found Bishop and Terri. Retrieving his electric ride on the way back, he soon saw Kevin trekking in the same direction.

  “Did you find Bishop and Terri, son?”

  “No, I searched the church and didn’t find them, but one of the ladies said she thought they were working at one of the schools. Westside Middle School is what she said.”

  “Hop in. We’ll go look together.”

  Nick floored the golf cart and never let off the accelerator, swerving the small machine around any curve or obstacle, Kevin hanging on to avoid being thrown overboard.

  A few minutes later, they came to a stop in front of the school’s main building. Hopping up two steps at a time, Nick was relieved to hear Bishop’s voice at the top of the stairs.

  “Hey, Nick… Kevin… what are you guys doing here?”

  “Everything okay over here, Bishop?”

  Terri appeared at her husband’s side. “Everything’s fine, Nick. What’s going on?”

  Nick explained the incident at the roadblock, watching Bishop’s reaction closely. His friend was still handicapped, and Nick wasn’t sure how he would handle any sort of threat. Nick had to smile when Bishop subconsciously moved his hand to the .45 pistol on his belt.

  “I can’t think of any Army buddies who might be looking me up,” replied Bishop. “My name’s not that common, so it probably is the same Bishop.”

  “Bishop, did they ever catch the guys who tried to kill you at Fort Bliss?”

  Bishop shook his head as Terri moved closer to her husband. “Not that I know of. No one told me if they did.”

  Terri added, “I didn’t hear anything about it while Bishop was in the hospital.”

  Nick turned and looked outside, his body language indicating he was lost in thought. Finally turning back, he said, “It might all be innocent… and it might not. My biggest worry is that we don’t know where they are. They could be hiding anywhere right now. They could have crosshairs on this very doorway waiting for you to come out.”

  Bishop responded, “Alpha’s a big place to search. There’s still so much of it that is unoccupied. If I were a shady character, I could hide out for a long time in the shadows, and you’d never find me. If these guys have skills, they’ll be difficult to locate until they take action and show themselves.”

  Nick nodded, “You’re absolutely right about that, buddy. Would you two mind hanging out around the church until we can find these guys? There’s no way we can protect you until we locate them and find out exactly what’s going on.”

  Terri nodded, looking up at her husband. “He’s supposed to be resting anyway. This will give me an excuse to keep him in bed.”

  “I’m loving this,” grinned Bishop. “Maybe I should find those guys myself and pay them to stay quiet for the rest of the week.”

  “Bishop,” Terri sighed, “Which arm hurts?”

  Alpha, Texas

  February 10, 2016

  “Honey, I’ve got bad news, I’m going to become scruffy.”

  Diana looked up from her desk and shrugged her shoulders. “That’s news?”

  Nick snorted, “No, s
eriously, I’m not going to bathe or shave for a few days.”

  Mayor Brown frowned, “Is this some sort of protest or hunger strike or something? I’m not going to shave until my mommy buys me a new whatever?”

  Nick pretended to be considering Diana’s statement, then became serious. “I’ve been talking things over with Terri and Bishop. We think it’s time to address the Midland Station issue, and Bishop came up with a pretty good plan, but it requires me to avoid bathing for a while.”

  “Where are you going to sleep while you stink? You’re not soiling my church.”

  “I’ll find someplace to crash. Kevin didn’t seem to be all that concerned about keeping my company.”

  “Kevin’s your son and family. He has to love you no matter what,” she teased.

  Nick laughed and bent to kiss Diana’s cheek. “I just wanted to warn you.”

  Leaving the deacon’s office, he found Bishop in the basement of the church, searching through boxes of clothing gathered for charity.

  “You’re a problem,” he proclaimed as Nick entered the room. “You’re too damned big. There weren’t that many guys in Alpha who wore a size 58 jacket.”

  Shrugging, Nick proceeded to help Bishop search.

  After an hour, the two men had finally collected an outfit both deemed acceptable for the mission. The pants and shirt could be from Nick’s normal wardrobe, but that’s where the similarities with his regular appearance would end. The skullcap was easy, as were the fingerless gloves. After digging through countless boxes, they had found a London Fog overcoat that would stretch across Nick’s shoulders.

  “Not bad,” Nick commented as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. “I look ‘swab’ and ‘de-boner.’”

  “Now it’s time to season your outfit,” announced Bishop. Nick immediately became wary, Bishop’s tone sounding just a little too happy about the next task.

  Nick retrieved his oldest, most worn pain of trousers and a shirt that already sported a few threadbare spots, while Bishop prepared for the ‘seasoning.’ Exiting the church’s front door, Nick found Bishop fiddling with a strand of para-cord at the back of a golf cart, the overcoat, gloves and hat lying on the ground beside him.

  Bishop squinted up at his friend, his voice demanding, “Throw your stuff on the ground. I’m almost ready.”

  “What the hell are you doing, Bishop?”

  “I’m going to show you how to accomplish the vagabond look. It’s the latest thing in Paris, I hear.”

  Nick, shaking his head, heaved his pants and shirt onto the pile.

  Bishop finished his task and then hopped in the driver’s seat. “Come on,” he motioned to his friend.

  The next thing Nick knew, Bishop had turned the cart around and was speeding toward the pile of clothing. “What are you doing?” he shouted just as the cart ran over the attire. Thump. Thump.

  Bishop didn’t answer, but spun the wheel sharply and floored the accelerator pedal, clearly lining up for a second pass. Timing it perfectly, he peered at Nick and mouthed the words, “thump thump,” precisely as the wheels passed over the now flattened clothing. Bishop’s face lit in a smile at his impeccable rhythm. Nick just shook his head.

  Spinning the cart around again, Bishop waited until just the right moment, and sang “Shave-and-a-haircut….” thump thump.

  Nick couldn’t help himself and started laughing at the ridiculousness of his friend’s behavior. “You’re a child,” was his only comment.

  “I’m just happy I get to sleep with my wife the next few days. Normally, I’m the one who gets filthy, grimy, and smells to high heaven. It’s one of the few benefits I’ve discovered to getting shot.”

  Bishop stopped the cart and bent to examine the results of his handiwork. The pile looked like it had seen better days. The next step was to tie the individual items to the para-cord at the back of the cart. “We’re going to drag them around for a while… maybe find some mud… maybe a good spot of oil on the parking lot.”

  By the time the men returned, the drag-along articles were well soiled and actually looked aged. Nick shook his head, “I’m not even going to ask how you thought up this trick. I don’t want to know.”

  Six blocks away, in clear view of the church, Mitchell lowered the binoculars from his eyes and turned to one of his men.

  “Well, well,” he started. “The mysterious Bishop does indeed tread this earth. He and that big dude are tooling around the parking lot on a golf cart.”

  “They’re doing what?” The bored private asked.

  Dismissing the question, Mitchell ordered, “Get your shit in one bag, and instruct your ass-buddy to do the same. I want to put a couple of rounds into this guy and get him to talk. Try to hit his legs if possible. No head shots… at least not ‘till we get what we want.”

  Nodding, the ex-private went to get his friend who was taking a nap at the back of the house.

  While he waited, Mitchell thought through his plan. The Army deserter really only wanted to talk to Bishop, but had gathered enough Intel to know his mark was most likely going to be a hard case. They had also heard various details about Bishop being injured – something about a shootout with kidnappers. A couple of people even claimed his left side was paralyzed.

  Mitchell thought there was a good chance the rumors were true given their target had been holed up in the church since they had arrived in town.

  Once they had discovered his hideout, moving into an empty house with a full view of the church’s compound was easy. The three men had taken shifts during the day – two of the intruders talking to a few citizens around town - one man always watching the compound.

  Now it was time to move. He only needed to keep Bishop alive for a minute or so, Mitchell’s experience being that dying men answer questions truthfully.

  Looking up, Mitchell observed his two comrades loading magazines. He checked the church again and saw no activity. “He’s gone inside again, but that don’t mean anything. We’ll just go in and get him. Like I said, no head shots.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement, and then Mitchell led the three-man team out the front door.

  Bishop started to set his rifle in the golf cart and reconsidered. Despite Nick’s warning of strangers in Alpha inquiring of his whereabouts, his left arm was still practically useless. He had snatched up the weapon more from habit than anything else.

  Looking at his watch confirmed he was late for his date with Ambassador Terri, so he decided to take the long gun along for the ride. Besides, he mused, he couldn’t let his best girl think he didn’t love her anymore. “Shhhhhhh,” he held his finger to his lip while looking at the rifle, “We don’t want Terri to know about our feelings for each other.”

  The .45 ACP on his belt provided a little more confidence.

  Zipping along to the courthouse, Bishop was considering Terri’s new role when three holes appeared in the Plexiglas windscreen, closely followed by the distant sound of gunshots.

  Bishop cranked the wheel hard left, the maneuver pulling his body across the seat just as sparks flew off the cart’s roof pillars, the sound of screaming ricochets filling the air.

  Slamming on the brake, Bishop grabbed the rifle with his good arm and rolled out of the vehicle, scrambling madly for a nearby elm tree. Cracking rounds passed over and around his body as he made for the protection of the trunk.

  Bishop’s entire left side was throbbing, the emergency movement and use of that arm generating debilitating waves of pain. With a grimace, he chanced a glance around the trunk, the exposure answered with shards of bark stinging his cheeks. Small eruptions of dirt nearby announced his attackers were trying to keep him pinned down – and they were succeeding.

  Setting down the rifle, Bishop pulled the .45 from its holster and flipped off the safety. Faking a peek around the left side of the tree, he quickly rolled right and snapped three shots where he thought the shooters were located, pulling back just as two incoming rounds thwacked into the old elm.

&
nbsp; During the brief exposure, he caught a glimpse of one assailant, the man shooting over the hood of a relic car 100 meters away. The pistol shots were worthless at that range – a realization that caused him to glance longingly at the rifle lying beside his leg.

  Long ago, the instructors at HBR had made every contractor execute what they termed “wounded shooter” drills. Unpopular with the less-experienced personnel, the exercises encompassed shooting, reloading, and remedial action drills while only using one arm/hand.

  Young, strong, and feeling invincible, Bishop had hated the workouts. His poor attitude and lack of effort during the drills had resulted in a scolding from one of the senior men. “You think you’re fucking superman. You’re walking around with this cocky-shit frame of mind that you’ll never get hit. Let me tell you, son, that’s a bullshit, short-sighted mindset. Shit happens on the battlefield. If you lose a hand or arm, you become a liability for not only yourself, but the team that has to protect your sorry ass. Learn to use that weapon one-handed, boy, or I won’t let you work with my squad.”

  Invincible or not, Bishop went along. While he found there was no way a one-armed shooter could aim and control a weapon with the same proficiency as with both limbs, with work a man could put rounds down range.

  Those lessons all came flooding back, as Bishop reached for the rifle.

  Charging the weapon required squeezing it between his knees – not a graceful process, but a round made it into the chamber. Flicking off the safety was easy.

  Again rolling right, he managed to raise the rifle to his shoulder one-handed. Sighting through the optic was difficult until he braced the weapon against the tree. He started pulling the trigger.

  Decades of training had to be thrown out the window. There was no way he could center the dot on a target, let alone hold it there long enough to squeeze the trigger. Without his left hand providing a fulcrum for the weight of the weapon, the small circle bounced, weaved, and jumped anywhere but on target.