War Dogs Trilogy: Wounded Warriors of the Apocalypse

by AJ Newman

  I opened my lips a bit more and said, “Maacks. Maacks. Goood Booy.”

  His tail wagged and beat the side of the pod. I lowered my head down to rub my cheek on his fur, and he licked my face and barked. MMax and I had been together for almost two years, and he was my best friend. I loved that dog, and he loved me.

  I checked his IVs and found the same setup as in my pod. His IVs had the same markings NaCl 9 % and Lactated Ringers. His pain pump was still half-full, but had no markings. I had no clue what to do with MMax. I wanted to cut the straps and let him free, but maybe he still needed the pain meds and liquids. I gave it a lot of thought, and decided to keep him restrained until the IV bags, and pain pump were empty.

  “Gooood booy, staaay,” I said as I raised my arm to my body and pushed it away, to signal for him to stay. Then I mumbled to MMax that I had to check the rest of the plane, and rubbed his ears before leaving. I turned the pod, so he could watch me on my way to the other section. Max clicked his teeth together as Malinois do all the time, but this time I think he just wanted me to hear him, so I would know he was still there.

  ***

  MMax watched closely to see what his human was doing. He felt fear again and didn’t like it at all. Partly because he was afraid his human, Jason, was walking away, and somewhat because he couldn’t free himself from the binding that kept him in the pod. He didn’t like Jason’s new voice, but at least Jason talked to him before Jason walked away.

  MMax tried to rip the bindings with his teeth and managed to cut through one, but was too tired to bite another one. He laid his head on the edge of the pod and watched his human.

  ☆

  Chapter 4

  West of Cookeville, TN on Highway 40

  Several weeks before TSHTF, Billie Johnson decided Dallas wasn’t where she wanted to live for the rest of her life, and she wanted to get away from her ex’s family. She was afraid her ex’s family was a bad influence on her twelve-year-old son, Mark. Her ex had died in a horrible car wreck and had been drunk when he’d passed out and hit the bridge abutment. His family drank too much and thought it was okay to drive all over the back roads of Texas. They gave white trash a lousy name.

  Billie had an excellent job as a forklift driver at the Fed EX warehouse between Dallas and Fort Worth. She emptied out her 401K and gave her boss two weeks’ notice. She took part of her husband’s life insurance money and traded her worn-out pickup for a used but great running Ford pickup with a crew cab.

  Her sister had flown out to Dallas to help her load Billie’s truck and a large U-Haul trailer with all their possessions. Billie’s goal was to live in Knoxville with her mom and dad until she could get back on her feet. They drove straight through to her sister’s home in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and spent the night and most of the next day.

  Billie had wanted to drive at night against her sister’s advice. Her sister handed her something in a paper bag. “I know you know how to handle Pop’s old Ruger pistol. There is a box of shells and another magazine in the bag. The gun is loaded, so be careful. I also added a map, so you can find us if you have to come back here. Our address is written next to the location on the map.”

  Billie looked over at her son and started to object but then thought a little protection could go a long way for a lady out on the road at night. “Thanks, Sis. I don’t like guns, but I’ll feel better having it with me. You know me so well. I didn’t pay a bit of attention to how we got to your house. I’ll need the map when I visit. Thanks again for all you’ve done. I’ll pay you back as soon as I start my new job.”

  “Take care and get your butt on the road. Call me when you get there or if you have any trouble.”

  Billie took the gun and extra mag from the bag and checked to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber. She placed the pistol and mag in her door pocket when Mark wasn’t looking.

  She pulled out at eight o’clock pm and stopped to fill up her old 2026 - F150 Ford. Mark ran into the store while his mom filled the truck. He came back a short while later with a big bag of snacks and large bags of beef jerky. He also had a monster thirty-two-ounce drink for himself.

  Billie scolded her son. “Mark, get your butt back in that store and fetch me those bottles of water and pork rinds I asked you to get,”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m tired. You go get them.”

  “March your butt in there right now, or I’ll take your Game Pro away and put it in the U-Haul. Go!”

  The boy went back into the store and purchased the water and snack for his mom. He sulked as he came back to the truck. “Here’s your dang water and pig rinds.”

  “Thanks. Now, that didn’t kill you, did it?”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “No, Mom.”

  She finished filling the truck’s gas tank and then checked the oil and tires before leaving the gas station. They headed up Highway 231 North on their way to Lebanon, where they would take Highway 40 on over to Knoxville. There weren’t many cars on the road, but as usual, there were many long haul truckers out at night. Billie fell in behind one who was speeding along at eighty miles per hour, and hoped he was heading all the way to Knoxville. The truck turned off at the Gordonsville exit a few minutes later, just as a fierce thunderstorm raked Billie’s truck with high winds and driving rain. Billie turned her emergency flashers on and pulled off to the side of the road to let the storm pass by them.

  Billie stole a piece of Mark’s jerky and munched on it while the truck rocked back and forth. “Hon, I hope the bed cover and the U-Haul don’t leak. I’d hate to have everything get wet.”

  Mark became irritated. “If mine gets ruined, you’ll have to buy me new stuff.”

  Billie wanted to slap the boy, but knew it wouldn’t do any good and wasn’t the right thing to do. Her ex had spoiled the boy rotten and had bought him everything the kid had asked for. Billie knew that being a mechanic at his dad’s shop didn’t pay her ex that much and always wondered where the extra money came from. She found out a couple of weeks before he died, and that was when she decided to leave the worthless drunk. The extra money had come from transporting drugs from the border into Dallas, and she hated drugs.

  Billie saw a vehicle’s lights pull in behind them and reached for the pistol. She placed it in her lap under her shirt and watched behind her truck. Suddenly, the vehicle took off and passed by them as the storm abated. She tucked the pistol under her left thigh and pulled back onto the highway. The rain was still pouring down, but not so bad that she couldn’t see. She saw the sign for Cookeville up ahead when the sky lit up in the east, and the truck’s engine died. Smoke rolled from under the dash, and she saw flames.

  “Mark, get out of the truck and unload the back seat of all our possessions!”

  “Why, Mom, I’m busy.”

  Billie replied, “Because I’ll yank a knot in your ass if you don’t get out now. The damn truck is on fire!”

  Mark had finally noticed the smoke, jumped out of the truck and unloaded his side of the truck while Billie tried to find the fire extinguisher on the back seat floorboard. She finally found it, pulled the pin, and sprayed under the dash. The flickering flames disappeared, and smoke stopped rolling up into the air. The pungent smell of burned wiring filled her nostrils, and tears came to her eyes.

  Billie cried as she tossed a rain poncho to her son and then pulled one over her head. She tucked the 9-mm Ruger under her belt and shoved the extra magazine into her pocket. She hoped to see the lights of a farmhouse or gas station in the distance, but it was pitch-black due to the storm. She checked to make sure the fire was out, and the smoke had dissipated before climbing into the truck’s back seat. She had to order Mark to get in because he didn’t like the smell. She left the front windows cracked a bit, so they had fresh air.

  Billie quietly sobbed to herself and handed Mark a towel to dry himself and then a blanket to keep him warm. After all, it was still March and very chilly at night. She shivered under her poncho and knew they couldn’t stay the night on Highway
40. She knew she had to call her sister, but resisted for an hour because she didn’t want to bother her this late at night.

  “Mom, I’m freezing. Let’s get a motel. I’m cold.”

  Billie swallowed her pride, took her phone from her back pocket, and pushed the button to activate the screen. Nothing happened. “Mark, did you run my phone battery down?”

  “No, Mom. You blame me for everything. Can I charge my Game Pro with the car charger? It went dead. Give me yours.”

  “When did it go dead?”

  Mark was annoyed anytime his mom asked him anything these days. “I don’t know. Oh, it died when you yelled at me to get out of the truck. You never cussed at me before.”

  “Give your phone to me.”

  Mark took his phone from his hoodie’s pocket. “Mom, mine’s dead too. I haven’t used it, and it was fully charged when we left.”

  “What? Oh crap!”

  “It’s not my fault.”

  “Son, I’m sorry for losing my temper, but I didn’t want you to get burned, and now the phones don’t work. I’m scared and …”

  She stopped in mid-sentence because she knew she had to make her son feel safe. Telling him that she was a second away from a nervous breakdown wasn’t going to cut it today.

  The rain stopped, and the sun came out about 8:00 that morning. What scared the hell out of Billie was there hadn’t been a single car drive by since theirs had died. Billie looked through her travel bag and found a box of microwave pastries, and they ate them cold for breakfast. By 9:00, small groups of people began walking past their truck, going both east and west. Most had a blank stare on their faces and didn’t stop to speak.

  An older couple stopped beside the truck, and the man asked, “Lady, do you have any water you can spare? My wife is parched and needs to take her medicine.”

  “Of course. We don’t have a lot, but we can spare a couple of bottles.”

  Billie climbed out of the truck and opened the back door to look for their water bottles. She handed the man two bottles. “Do you know what happened?”

  The man shrugged. “There was some news on the car radio about the US attacking some of those Arab countries, and Russia attacking some of our bases. The power went off about that time. We were returning from a shopping trip to Nashville when the car died. I think the Rooskies used some type of newfangled bomb on us that kills electronics.”

  Billie was afraid the lack of traffic meant some kind of horrific disaster, but it had never dawned on her that the USA had been attacked. “Does that kind of bomb exist?”

  “Yes. A regular old nuclear bomb detonated high in the sky will shut down the electrical grid and stop most electronics. I saw that on the History Channel the other day. Where were you and the boy going? You can stay with us until they get things running.”

  “If it was a bomb, how do we get our cars and phones working again?”

  “That’s way above my pay grade. I suppose we could replace the computer and wiring on the cars and trucks. I think we would need all new phones,” the old man said.

  Billie knew they couldn’t stay in the truck much longer. “Where do you live?”

  The old woman spoke up for the first time. “Y’all are welcome to come stay with us for a spell. You need to get your son out of this cold, damp air. We’re only about two miles east and a mile south of here.”

  Billie looked at her son. “Mark, get your backpack and your suitcase.” Then she turned back to the old couple. “If it isn’t an inconvenience, we would like to come to your house while we figure out what to do.”

  Billie caught glances of the couple as she gathered the things she needed to take with her. The old man was about seventy -years-old and very frail looking. He was well groomed, but had bib overalls and an old dirty ball cap. His wife was about the same age, but looked rode hard, and put up wet as her dad used to say. Her face was wrinkled, and she was short and plump. She wore a full-length dark dress with a white apron and black lace-up shoes. The couple could have been any one of a million retired farm couples.

  Billie fetched her suitcase and backpack, then locked the truck. She pulled the handle out and pulled the bag behind her, with the plastic wheels clacking each time they crossed a crack in the concrete road. Mark complained about having to tow his suitcase, but otherwise behaved himself.

  The old man told Billie his name was Al Smith, and his wife’s name was Ruby. They had a small farm close to Cookeville and had lived there for forty-five years. Al told Billie, “We only had one son, and he married some trash from Nashville and then died in a car crash. We took possession of our grandson, and he lives with us. He’s a good boy.”

  Billie didn’t want to ask too many questions and frankly, didn’t care about learning any more about people she would never see again. In between Al and Ruby bending her ear, she decided Mark and she would head back to her sister’s home and wait until the government got everything running again. She hated leaving her truck and the trailer full of her household possessions, but didn’t have a choice.

  They saw an overpass up ahead, and the old man pointed at it. “We can climb down the hill here and save half a mile or so.”

  Al stepped over the guardrail and then helped his wife climb over the railing. Billie and Mark lifted their suitcases and placed them on the other side of the guardrail. They carefully followed Al and Ruby down a well-worn path to the crossroad below. It only took fifteen minutes, before they stood in front of an older but charming white frame home. A white hound with black spots came out to greet them. The dog was friendly, but Mark was afraid of dogs, so Billie stepped between Mark and the dog. She rubbed its ears and petted it on the back. The poor thing limped as it ran around them, excited his master was back home.

  Ruby showed them to their room and left them to make themselves at home. Ruby prepared a great lunch consisting of grilled cheese sandwiches and vegetable beef soup. Billie wondered where the grandson was and why he would miss lunch. “Ruby, didn’t you say you had a grandson””

  “Yes, he’s out hunting. Ray likes to fish and hunt all the time. Al thinks he should get a job, but Ray says he can’t find work that suits him. We even bought him a nice car to get to work. I think he sells the hides because he always has money,” Ruby said.

  Al had a worried look on his face and changed the subject. “Billie, do you have a family?”

  “Yes, my sister and her family live on the west side of Nashville, and my mom and dad live out past Knoxville.”

  Mark looked up and started to speak when Billie kicked him under the table. He looked at his mom, and she winked at him. The others didn’t catch the subtle, silent communication between mother and child.

  Billie helped clean up the kitchen, and then Al showed them around the farm. Mark was bored without his electronic game to play, so every few minutes he complained. “Mom, I’m bored.”

  “Go outside and play.”

  Billie spread her map out on the table and asked, “What is the best route back to my sister’s place? She lives in Murfreesboro.”

  The old man looked at the map and traced the best route with his finger back to her sister’s hometown. She had taken the same route away from Murfreesboro.

  Just as the sun went down, the old couple’s grandson came back from hunting. He shoved the kitchen door open and yelled, “Granny, your favorite grandson is home!”

  The man saw Billie drying the dishes and tossed a black bag to the floor. “Well, Granny, you didn’t say we had company fer supper. Iffen I’d have known something this dang beautiful would be here, I would have been home much earlier.”

  His grandfather came into the kitchen. “Ray, get your food out of the stove and eat it while it’s still hot. That’s Billie and her son. They’re staying with us tonight and then on their way to their home. Hey, did you see or hear anything odd last night?”

  “Yep, my damned car died. I had to walk back from Cookeville last night. One other off thing happened. A big airplane crashed
somewhere close to here. The funny thing is, there were no sirens or emergency crews on the way to the plane. I think sumptin bad happened,” Ray said.

  Billie almost laughed at the guy because he reminded her of the Fonz in the old TV show Happy Days. He had a mean look about him, so she stifled the snicker. He wore tight jeans, had a white T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pack of Marlboros in his shirt pocket. There was a chain from his belt loop to an oversize wallet in his left back pocket. The man’s neck and arms were covered in crude tattoos, like the ones the slime balls wore on the reality cop shows. There was no doubt this man had been to prison, and those were jail tats.

  Billie turned toward Ruby to finish drying the dishes, and the hair on the back of her neck stood out when she smelled something foul behind her. Then she felt something brush across her butt. She turned abruptly and saw the grandson standing only a few inches behind her. She felt his hand again and threw her elbow in his side. “Get your hand off my ass.”

  Mark saw the man assaulting his mom and tackled him, just as Billie drew her pistol. Mark knocked the man to the floor, but Ray recovered quickly and drew back to hit Mark. Billie pulled her aim away from Ray and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet through the floor under the table. Ray rolled under the table and cowered while Mark jumped to his mom’s side with tears in his eyes.

  Billie screamed, “Get your son of a bitch grandson under control before I kill the bastard! Al, you had to see him grab my ass!”

  Ruby pleaded, “He didn’t mean no harm. Usually, the women love him. You will too once you get to know him. I …”

  Al interrupted. “No Ruby, he’s a worthless twit and will always be a worthless twit. He attacked the woman, and she would have been within her rights to shoot the SOB. He’s just like his white trash mother. Billie, I’m sorry, but you two need to leave now before you have to kill him. He ain’t much, but he’s my grandson, and I can’t let you shoot him.”