by Chris Pike
It never quite worked out that way, because whenever Dillon found the squirrel, the loud shouts and hand waving meant discord between Buster and Dillon. Buster normally retreated into the house, confused as to what he had done wrong. It never lasted long, so by the next day, whatever transgression Buster had been guilty of was forgotten.
Holly took a five minute shower, and though the water was cold and the pressure low it felt good to wash off all the grime and sweat. Standing in the shower, naked, she thought back to the previous night. She had admired Dillon from afar for a long time, watching him in the courtroom, the way he carried himself, but she knew he was off limits, being a married man and all. After his wife died, she couldn’t bring herself to flirt with him or ask him out for a friendly cup of coffee. While she had hoped he would make the first move, she hadn’t expected for them to see who could get his zipper down first.
With her hair wet and a towel wrapped around her body, Holly went to the walk-in closet and perused the clothes belonging to Dillon’s late wife. Going through someone else’s things felt like trespassing, and as Holly looked through the clothes, she imagined the life they had lived.
There were the standard business clothes consisting of blazers and black pants. Scarves were hung neatly on wooden pegs, organized by color. There were several dresses, perhaps to wear to a nice restaurant. In the custom made closet, Holly opened the drawers and found the exercise wear she was looking for. Going through it, she decided to change into a pair of yoga pants and a matching top, layering a T-shirt over it. As luck would have it, the size 8 tennis shoes were a fit too.
She found a workout jacket and tied that around her waist. If she got cold, she could wear it. Once she got to the ranch, she’d change into something of her own. She always left clothes there so she wouldn’t have to spend much time deciding what to take when she visited, which hadn’t been much lately.
After her parents died, going back never seemed the same. The house was cold, barren of life.
Times were changing, and she’d probably better get used to the idea of living at the ranch if what Dillon said was true. It couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Yet by the way Dillon talked about the EMP and everything he had said from the stalled cars to the lack of water pressure, it made sense.
Holly searched for an extra change of socks and undies, opening bottom drawers, and when she opened the top drawer, she hesitated when she noticed a jewelry box tucked in the back.
She looked over her shoulder. It was quiet and the morning sun streamed through the bedroom windows. Holly listened to Dillon rummaging around the house.
She stared at the jewelry box for a few long seconds, wondering whether or not to open it. Curiosity got the best of her and she reached over and opened it. There were the usual costume jewelry of bangles and necklaces, plus several pairs of earrings. Holly thought Dillon’s wife had excellent taste, or maybe it was Dillon with the good taste. Normally a husband bought his wife jewelry. A small wooden box tucked away in the corner caught Holly’s attention. Opening it, she saw a gold necklace with an opal pendant and matching earrings.
For some reason, and it was like a force took over her, she tried on the necklace. Even in the low light, the opal shined iridescent colors of the rainbow. Holly’s hand went to the necklace and she thought it surely must have been a present from Dillon.
Dillon barreled into the room. “Holly? Are you ready?”
Holly quickly stuffed the necklace under her t-shirt before turning around. Wide-eyed, she said, “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Time to go.” Dillon tossed her a backpack, and Holly caught it deftly. “Put the plastic bag in there and let’s go.”
“This is heavier than I thought it would be,” Holly said, testing the weight of the backpack.
“There’s still time to back out if you want to. The trip won’t be easy,” Dillon said. “You’ll have to keep up, and if you can’t I’ll have to leave you behind. I have to find my daughter. She’s the only family I have left.”
Holly slung the pack on her back and looped her arms through the straps. The weight made her stoop over. “What’s in it?”
“Dog food.”
Holly gave Dillon one of those stares that sends chills through grown men. Dillon recognized it, but didn’t waver. That look might work in the courtroom, but Holly was on his home turf now.
“You’re making me carry dog food?”
“That’s right. There’s still time to change your mind because now’s the time, not when we get halfway down the road.”
Letting out a long held sigh, she said, “I’m good.”
“Let’s roll then,” Dillon said.
Chapter 20
Dillon decided the best route to Holly’s ranch was to take Interstate 10 until it met Highway 90, then head northeast along the rarely travelled back roads until they came to it. It was a practical and safe route because Interstate 10 was known to be the highway of choice to traffic drugs and other contraband, which in turn attracted unsavory characters.
Unfortunately, the quickest way to the smaller highway was by using Interstate 10 for about thirty miles.
All sorts of makes and models of cars and trucks, 18-wheelers, and delivery trucks dotted the interstate.
They passed desperate people who flagged them down, and Dillon had to ignore their cries for help. Only a few would survive, and he couldn’t waste any energy on the expendables.
They were the living dead; they just didn’t know it yet.
The bike ride to Holly’s ranch was anything but easy. Take an injured woman and an out-of-shape dog, and Dillon was forced to stop every hour, letting everybody catch their breath.
When noon rolled around Holly had lagged further and further behind, along with Buster, who was panting heavily. Dillon decided it would be a good time to stop, eat a quick lunch, and take care of necessities before hitting the road again.
“Hey!” Holly yelled, skidding her bike to a stop. “Why are we stopping here? There’s a rest stop ahead about five more miles. We can use the restroom and fill up our water bottles.”
“There’ll be too many people and I don’t want to take any chances. You saw what happened at the house this morning. By now, people will be getting more desperate and if they see us with our bikes and gear, it could get real ugly real quick.”
“We have to pass by it anyway. I’ll be careful.”
“No,” Dillon said firmly. “And that’s final.”
“You’re armed. Won’t that gun you have slung across your shoulder scare people?”
“That gun is an AK.”
She gave him an indignant look. “So?”
Dillon swung his leg over the seat, pushed his bike to the side of a tree, and leaned it there. “If I’m rushed, I might only get a few people. You’ll be swarmed, and when people have the strength and courage of a crowd, they do all sorts of things.” Dillon looked at Holly directly. “Not nice things, if you get my drift, and I don’t plan to give anybody the upper hand.” Holly acquiesced.
Standing in the shade, Dillon gulped water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You thirsty too, boy?” he asked Buster, who thumped his tail as if understanding. Dillon dug around in his pack for the dog’s bowl then poured some water for Buster, who greedily lapped it up. Taking out a map, Dillon studied it, tracing a line with his finger.
“We’ll be leaving the interstate before we get to the rest stop, so it’s a moot point.” He looked pointedly at Holly. “Objection, counselor?”
She dropped her gaze. “No.”
“We’ll take twenty minutes to eat and then we’re outta here on time.”
“You don’t even have a watch, so how do you know when twenty minutes are up?”
“Why the third degree?” he asked gruffly. “When I say it’s time to leave, it’s time. Understand?”
Holly didn’t answer. She was sitting in the shade, picking at a blade of grass while she cradled her throbbing arm. She gently massaged
it, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Dillon. Holly had turned away, unaware that Dillon was studying her. She was taking in the country, trying to get her mind off her arm and the fact maybe she physically wasn’t up to this bike ride. She’d never admit it, especially to Dillon. It was too late to turn around, so she’d have to buck up and take it. She drank a few sips of water, praying she wouldn’t upchuck. Nausea had set in a couple of hours into the bike ride, and she forced herself to nibble on a peanut butter granola bar and a piece of chocolate.
Her thigh muscles mirrored her throbbing arm.
It was quiet sans the low chirping of a cricket and the wind through the trees. A cardinal sang in a nearby tree, another one answered in a similar melody. They had passed hundreds of abandoned cars and trucks, along with a few drivers steadfast in their resolve to stay with their vehicles. Dillon had said it was foolish because they were wasting valuable time and resources remaining with their cars. Nothing owned was worth losing their lives over.
While on their trek, a distressed man had come running up to Dillon, yelling saying he’d pay a thousand dollars for the bike. Dillon ignored him and rode on telling the man, “I wouldn’t sell this for a million dollars.”
A group of weary travelers walking toward them garnered Holly’s attention. She counted five of them, surmising it was a family. The mother was pushing two kids in a stroller while the oldest one, a son, probably about ten, walked alongside his father.
“Excuse me,” the male voice called out.
Dillon put down the map and acknowledged he had heard.
The man came running up to Dillon and Holly. He was sweaty and sunburned, and had an ugly and recent purplish bruise on his cheek. “Do you have any water?” the man pleaded. “My wife and kids are dying of thirst.”
Dillon looked at the bedraggled kids, a four and five year old in the stroller, the bigger one standing by his dad. Dillon immediately felt sorry for them, hoping that if his daughter needed help, someone would be kind enough to help her.
“I can spare a couple water bottles, but that’s it. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you so much.”
“I have a bottle I can spare, too,” Holly said. She got up and handed one over.
“I’m Brad Slaughter. This is my wife Stephanie.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dillon said without much conviction. “I’m Dillon, that’s Holly.”
Holly held out a hand to greet the man.
Brad chugged down half a bottle of water then gave the rest to his oldest son. His wife kept the other two water bottles and instructed the youngest kids to sip slowly and not spill any.
“Do you have any news on what’s going on?” Brad asked. “We were driving along the interstate when the car died. I thought the battery had gone dead or something then I saw that all the other cars stop about the same time. None of the phones work either.”
“You probably won’t believe me even if I tell you.”
“What is it?” Brad said. “Tell me.”
“I’m guessing an electromagnetic pulse has caused this.”
“What’s an electro…” Brad trailed off, searching for the right word.
“An EMP for short. It’s a nuclear bomb that was detonated high in the atmosphere. Anything electrical like computers, cars, and phones won’t be working for a long time. Infrastructure has broken down.”
“What do you mean?” Brad asked skeptically.
“Transportation, communications, plumbing, anything that our modern society has relied on is not working and won’t for the foreseeable future.”
“That’s hard to believe. If it’s true, then why are some of the cars still working?”
“Like older models?”
“Exactly.”
“Vintage cars from the 70s and earlier still work because they don’t rely on a computer.”
“It’s still hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” Dillon said. “Where do you folks live?”
“West side of Houston.”
“Hmm.” Dillon took note of that, thinking the family was about ten miles west of his house. “You’ve got about a two day walk ahead of you.” Dillon looked at the weary kids and the wife. “Do you have food to last you a couple of days?”
“We already ate the snacks we had.”
“I can spare you a few granola bars, but that’s about all.”
“Thank you,” Brad said. “Do you know where we can get any water?”
Dillon motioned to the west. “About ten miles west of here, there’s a local motel about a mile off the interstate. Look for the sign that indicates food and gas. Head north and you’ll see the motel on the right. There are vending machines—”
“I don’t have any change,” Brad said.
“Doesn’t matter. Break into it.”
Brad glanced at his wife. “That would be stealing.”
“In times like these, a man has to do what is right for his family, not what is moral. Think about it.”
Brad gave Dillon a puzzled expression.
“We have to go now. Good luck to you folks,” Dillon said.
About an hour later Dillon, Holly, and Buster had already turned off the highway to a two-lane country road. Holly peddled to catch up to Dillon.
“Why didn’t you tell them to stop at the motel that was closer?”
“Because there’d be too many people there, and whatever resources they would need would probably be gone. Besides, they would probably get hurt or robbed of anything they have. Only the locals know about the motel I told them about, so there is probably still some consumable food there. If they’re smart they’ll rest and spend the night.”
“Do you think they’ll make it home?”
“Don’t know. Maybe if they can find food and water along the way. It won’t be pretty. People will be looking out for themselves and family. Strangers will be on their own.”
“Then why did you help them?”
“We’re only a day away from supplies. They, on the other hand, are several days away. Plus I felt sorry for the kids. I gave them another day to live. It might be all they need.”
“I never pegged you for being altruistic,” Holly said.
“Don’t count on it again,” Dillon said as he put muscle to the bike, taking him further ahead of Holly, trying to keep his mind off of the previous night. He didn’t look back as he gobbled more ground on the blacktop.
After thirty minutes of a silent bike ride, Dillon slowed the pace, waiting for Holly to catch up to him. “It’s my turn to ask questions.”
“Go for it.”
“Why did you take Cole Cassel as a client?”
Holly didn’t answer. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead.
“He’s not exactly the type of client you normally take,” Dillon pressed.
Holly shot him an indignant expression.
“Well? Why did you?”
“Because I knew Cole in high school.”
Now that wasn’t something Dillon had expected to hear, however, it would explain some things. Still, only knowing somebody in high school wouldn’t be a good enough reason to represent them in a murder trial.
There must be something else, he mused.
Dillon glanced at Holly. Her eyes were downcast and she seemed a million miles away, staring at the countryside passing them by.
“That’s all?” Dillon asked. “So what if you knew him in high school? I know a lot of people from high school, but that’s no reason to take anyone as a client.”
“We had a baby together.”
A bombshell wouldn’t aptly describe the revelation, and if there had been a pin to drop Dillon would have heard it. He became acutely aware of the silence and the awkwardness of the situation.
Even Buster picked up on the tenseness of the situation, and he studied his owner. Buster was used to Dillon’s even breathing. His increasing heart rate and solemn facial expression worried the dog. Dillon’s usual fluid body movements had turned stiff, as i
f he was afraid of moving.
Buster glanced at Holly. Her breathing had suddenly become irregular, and Buster detected a burst of unusual tension-laced sweat. He didn’t fully understand the events leading up to his new pack acting odd, and his animal instincts guided him to be wary.
Several uncomfortable seconds had transpired of Buster trotting, Holly keeping her gaze on the road, Dillon peddling until finally he said, “Oh.”
“The cat’s out of the bag so I might as well tell you the rest of the story. I wasn’t quite eighteen when it happened. I had planned on going to college, and he was from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“I think he’s still on the wrong side.”
“That really wasn’t necessary.” Holly gave him a wicked stare and Dillon immediately regretted his remark.
“Sorry,” Dillon said. He wiped the sweat off of his brow. “Tell me what happened. I’ll keep the rest of my editorial comments to myself.”
“It was young love. We were so innocent and full of life, thinking our love would conquer the world. It was our senior year and he was a star football player, and had even gotten a scholarship to a small college.”
“Some of the best NFL players come from small colleges.”
“Cole had a special quality about him, something that people were drawn to. He was always joking and making people laugh. I loved that about him. When you talked to him it was like you were the most important person in the world. We were going to get married.”
“Why didn’t you?” Dillon asked.
“He had a dark side I didn’t know about. Besides, life and reality intervened in a big way. He came from a bad family. I think he used humor to disguise the problems at home. His father beat his mother and him on a regular basis. Once he got big enough to protect himself, his father stopped beating him. His poor mother took the brunt of the abuse.
“Why didn’t his mother leave?”
“Why doesn’t any battered woman leave?”
Dillon shrugged.
“It’s because they don’t know where to go. Their self-esteem has been battered to the point they think they aren’t worth anything. So they stay,” Holly said.
