by Scott Allen
The taller woman asked, “How did you come to be hurt, Private?”
“I was on top of an observation platform overlooking the lake, Ma’am, and I needed to come down to pee, and the ladder broke. When I fell, I think I broke my leg, I broke my wristband, too, so I couldn’t call for help,” said the soldier.
“You were on top of an observation platform, and you decided to leave your post?” asked the taller woman.
“Well, I had to pee, Ma’am,” said the soldier.
The taller woman said sharply, “And what if the Mexicans had chosen that moment to come across the river, while you were down in the bushes?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I couldn’t just pee on the platform!” The soldier was beginning to sound afraid.
“You most certainly could have!” shouted the taller woman. “You deserted your post! And, instead of remaining at your post after being hurt, you left it completely. Lieutenant, get your gun. You know what to do.”
“Yes, General,” said the lieutenant.
“Ma’am! I didn’t desert! I’m injured!” the soldier started to cry.
The lieutenant returned to the front of the vehicle with a rifle and raised it.
Dana shot the General, who screamed and fell. The lieutenant turned toward Dana’s position, and Dana shot her through the body. She fell in a heap, and was still. The General was crying loudly, and fumbling with her wristband.
Dana walked out of the woods and onto the road. The General was obviously preparing to call for help. When Dana appeared, she looked terror-stricken and froze. Then, her face contorted into a snarl, and she yelled, “You filthy rapist!” Dana felt violent anger welling up within him, anger from all the years of humiliation he had suffered. He was shaking with rage. There was a red film over his eyes. He shot the General four times in quick succession. Her blood began to pool on the road. It surprised him that he felt no remorse. He stared at her still body. After a moment, he stopped shaking.
The injured soldier was looking wide-eyed at him as if he were some sort of creature from another planet. Dana noticed she had a pretty face, although it showed her profound fright. Dana was breathing heavily from the excitement. He said, “They’re … they’re going to kill you … when they find you … I’m headed for Texas … I might be able to help you get there, too … if you want.”
She stared at him, and finally spoke. “You’re right. I guess so. I can’t walk, though, I’m sorry. You’ll have to drag me. Can you do that?”
“I can put you on a tarp and drag you on that,” said Dana. Wait here.” He ran back to his pack, put it on, picked up the tarp, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and laid the tarp on the ground next to her. He and she worked her painfully onto the tarp, and he grabbed it by the two ends near her head and pulled. It wasn’t easy for him, but he started making good time towards the lake, huffing and puffing. He asked, “How do you think … I can get you across the lake?” The lake was now only a few meters away.
“It’s less than a meter deep. I can float on my back and you can pull me,” she said. “What’s your name, by the way?”
“Dana,” he said. “You’re Lori, right?”
“Right. And, Dana, thank you for this,” she seemed to mean it.
“It’s OK. What about the river?” asked Dana.
“Even shallower at this time of year, but there are steep banks to get down and back up,” she said.
They approached the lake, and could smell a fishy, fetid odor. Out of the corner of his eye, Dana saw headlights approaching down the road. “Stay down!” he said, and dropped himself. The headlights stopped at the scene of the killing, over 100 meters behind them. “OK, we’re going to have to crawl toward the lake and put you in. We’ll move slowly.”
Remaining on his belly, he dragged her forward pulled himself slowly into the lake, squatting down in the warm shallow water, shoes on the muddy bottom. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her into the lake and began to walk slowly and quietly toward the other side. Only her face and part of her body was above water, and only his head was out of the water. They were very slowly moving toward the other side of the lake, making long, low ripples, but being very quiet.
They were halfway across the lake when there was an outcry near the vehicles. Several hand-lights were bouncing towards them across the ground. “We’ve been spotted, Lori,” whispered Dana. “I guess we keep going. No choice.”
In a moment, bullets began hitting the water around them. “I’m scared, Dana!” Lori said. Then, “Aaaahhh! I’m hit!” She began coughing and struggling. Dana held on as tightly as he could and moved faster. Lori made gurgling sounds in her throat. Bullets were still singing around their heads and throwing up little geysers of water.
“Hang on, Lori!” Dana whispered. He could see something dark pouring from her mouth. She became still and completely limp. Dana knew she was dead. She began to sink a little into the water, and Dana released his grip. He took a deep breath and flattened himself against the mud at the bottom of the lake. His pack and gun weighed him down and prevented him from floating to the surface. Bullets were still hitting the water, but not penetrating very far. One struck him on the arm, but it caused no more harm than a twig falling from a tree.
Dana remained still. He held his breath as long as he could, then carefully raised just his face out of the water, breathed, and sank back down. Lori’s body was floating away, and that seemed to be the target of the shooting from the shore.
Dana imagined that they might wade into the lake in search of him, so he had to move without making ripples. He crawled along the bottom until he needed air, then stopped, inverted himself, and rose just enough to get a breath. There were no bullets hitting around him now, and he could hope that, as the moon went down, he would be invisible when he emerged from the lake and headed for the river.
He couldn’t believe this was happening. He had seen so many people killed in a short time, and had killed four himself. It was a kind of hell that he had never thought he would enter. He was both terrified and determined to survive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He finally reached the shallows of the other side of the lake, exhausted. He spread mud all over his face and arms, and raised his head out of the water. The hand-lights were still there on the far bank, shining into the water. The moon was down, and the only natural source of light was the dim starlight. Should he wait for the search party to go away before emerging? Another risk calculation, and Dana was getting better at them. He calculated that the chances were good that the soldiers on the bank would not be satisfied with retrieving Lori’s body. They probably suspected there was more than one person crossing the lake. They would call for a big searchlight, perhaps, and at that point, he would be toast. He had to move.
Dana removed his pack, put his rifle on the ground, and slowly crawled out of the water and lay flat, breathing heavily, but as quietly as he could. He took stock. He was covered in foul-smelling mud, and he didn’t know if his rifle worked after submersion. He began to crawl, dragging the pack and gun. The river was only a few meters away, as far as he could see. There appeared to be no lights anywhere near the river, on either side.
He reached the banks of the Red River. About four meters below him was the water, with steep banks leading down to it. The simplest thing was just to slide downwards. If there were any eyes behind him, he would disappear. There was a gully in front of him, and he slid down, feet first, and landed in the mud near the water. So far, so good. He slung on his pack and picked up the rifle.
He looked around, alert for any signs of movement in the darkness. He presumed the coast was clear, and began wading across the river. It was up to his thighs, and he could dimly make out a gully in the steep bank on the other side. He was in the middle of the river, and thought, “I’m in Texas, now, Mexican territory! I’m free!”
That was when he heard a woman’s yell from the Oklahoma bank, some distance downriver. “Halt, Dana! We know who you are! Hal
t or I’ll shoot!” Dana fairly ran splashing to the gully, and bullets began peppering around him. He began scrabbling for handholds in the gully, and when he got a meter higher up, the gully sides were dry. He got handholds on the rocks, and began climbing frantically. They knew who he was! They must’ve caught Alden and tortured him. He was protected by the gully walls from the bullets, but he knew that whoever was shooting would move upriver for a better shot. This time, there was no thinking, no balancing of chances. He was a hunted animal, and clawed for his life.
He reached the top of the gully and knew he would be visible as he went over the top. There was no other solution. He heaved himself over the bank, and stood up to run. He had only gotten a few steps when a bullet hit his pack and swung him around and down to the ground. Then, a blow like a club hit him on his left calf. Now, Dana was hurt and enraged. The red mist reappeared in front of his eyes. He flipped the switch on his gun to continuous fire, and heard the reassuring whine of the capacitor charging. He began to spray the opposite bank with bullets where he thought the shooter might be. He heard thudding sounds as he hit the bank, and raised his aim just a bit. He heard the sound of someone moving quickly away from the river.
Dana got up and a bolt of pain shot through his left leg. He shifted his weight to his right leg and hopped into a low tree line. There was a forest of scrubby trees he could see in the dim light, and he used the trees as handholds. His left leg was beginning to throb badly, and if it touched a bush, more pain shot through it.
He finally reached a small clearing, and sat down, being careful of his leg. He sat down and simply stared vacantly into space for a long time, stunned by all that had happened. Then, he rocked over on his side and began to sob, his body heaving. He was in pain, but he was also relieved of the awful tension he had felt since he had run. He cried for that relief. He cried for Rowan, for Janet, for Blake, for Lori, and for the three innocent women he had killed. He cried until he was dry.
Dana opened his pack, looking for something to help with his leg. He found the hand-light and shined it into the pack. It was a mess. Pieces of nutrition bars and wrappers were everywhere. But, he did notice the towel wrapped around the big kitchen knife. He unwrapped the knife, and saw how bent the blade was. The bullet had hit it. He shined the light on his lower leg, and rolled up the pants leg. There was blood everywhere. The pants leg was soaked in it. Dana felt weak looking at it. But, he wrapped the towel around the wound and tied it tight.
He was very tired, and decided to cover himself up with the tarp. Then he remembered that the tarp was on the other side of the lake. He put the pack under his head, and the map over it, to keep some of the mosquitoes away. He realized they would feast on his arms, but he was too exhausted to care. He slept.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
When Dana awoke, it was still morning. He could tell because the air was not yet very hot, and the sun was still east-southeast in the sky, not terribly high. He looked down at himself. His black clothes were covered in dried red mud, except for his lower leg, which was reddish-black with dried blood, with flies buzzing around it. He thought to himself that he had never worn reddish clothing before. Well, it was hardly the only new thing.
His leg still throbbed. He didn’t want to look under his makeshift bandage. Instead, he got out the GPS unit and picked up the map. It was an Oklahoma map, but it still showed the border region of Texas. He input the third address, and correlated it with the map. About three kilometers overland, he calculated. He might be able to do it.
He briefly considered if he should use the roads. If the news at Bertha’s place had been correct, there were no soldiers of either army in this area. However, there might be roving bands of freed men, probably armed. They might harm him, or they might be glad for him to join them. It was probably best to avoid them. Also, there were evacuation teams, certainly in vehicles using the roads. However, they were not supposed to be armed, while Dana was. So, there was only a small probability that they posed a threat. Nonetheless, he decided to stay off the roads. But, he felt it was safe enough to travel in daylight, as long as he was careful to avoid being spotted.
Dana examined his rifle. It, too, was now red from dried mud. He found a water bottle, washed his face, arms, and hands, and then tried to get the mud off the rifle. Good enough? He pointed rifle upwards, set the selector to single fire, and heard the reassuring tiny whine of the capacitor. He held the gun as far away from him as he could, and pulled the trigger. A bullet fired. Good enough.
He ate some pieces of nutrition bar, drank the rest of the water in the bottle, then slung the pack on his back and the rifle over his shoulder, and stood up on his right leg. He tried hopping. It was difficult, and very painful when he brushed his left calf against something, and he was barely making any distance at all.
He decided he needed a crutch. He looked around and saw a young tree that branched about one and half meters off the ground. He hobbled toward it, and laid down beside it. Using the bent knife, he hacked at the base of the tree. It was only three centimeters thick, but it seemed to take hours to cut through. Many times he had to stop and rest his arm. Finally, he was through. From then, it was a short matter to cut off everything above the Y-shaped top. He tried standing up with the crutch under his left arm. Too long. He went back to hacking at the base until he had a workable crutch. By then, it was almost noon, and he was very tired. But, he was determined to reach the third address before dusk.
He hobbled painfully through the fields and trees, exhausted and hot, looking around carefully at every open place. He saw no one. The two farmhouses he saw had no activity around them. Once, he saw, off in the distance, a grey bus moving south down a dirt road, throwing up a rooster tail of dust behind it. That was all. The map and the GPS showed he was almost upon the third address, when he heard the whirring sound of an electric lawn mower.
He peeked through a line of bushes, and saw a tanned young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, wearing shorts, a white t-shirt, and a cap, pushing the mower across a lawn, outside of a small house. She had a rifle slung across her back. She was sweating profusely, shirt soaked and clinging to her upper body, with her brassiere showing through. When she reached the end of a row, she stopped, and used the lower edge of her shirt to wipe her face. Dana thought this might be a good time to introduce himself.
“Nance,” he called out, “I’m a friend of Marjorie’s,” and he stepped out onto the cropped lawn.
She moved so quickly he barely saw it. Her rifle was levelled at him. “Who are you?”
Dana held up his hands. “My name is Dana. Marjorie helped me escape from Valley, in Oklahoma. She gave me your name and address, and said that you might be able to help me.”
Nance looked at him slowly and carefully. She said, “OK, put down your gun, very slowly.” Dana did. Then, she went through much the same routine that Bertha had, asking questions about Marjorie, all of which Dana could answer. He was becoming exhausted, standing on one leg, after all his exertions and loss of blood. He could tell that Nance was still suspicious. “Move away from the gun,” she said, and Dana complied. She walked over to the rifle and picked it up, keeping her eyes on Dana the entire time, and her gun pointed directly at him. “Do you see that plastic patio chair over there, next to the table? Go sit down there.” Dana was grateful to hobble over to the chair and sit, removing his pack as he did so.
“Throw the pack to me,” she commanded, and Dana did. “Stay in that chair. I’ll be right back.” She took his pack and gun into the house. She returned shortly with her gun, and walked to the side of the house where there was a garden hose. She turned it on to a thin stream, and tossed the end of it to him. “I’m inclined to help you, Dana. Heaven knows you look like you need it. But, you’re too dirty to come inside. Take off your shirt and pants and wash yourself off, and I’ll bring you a towel to wrap around yourself. Then you can come inside.”
“Nance, I’ve been shot in my lower leg. Would you have something
I could wrap around it?” asked Dana. Nance nodded, and went inside.
Dana turned the hose on himself, fully clothed, and enjoyed it thoroughly in the summer heat. He removed his shirt, then much more carefully, his pants and underwear, and washed. Red dirt flowed off, looking like thin blood. He kept his left leg for last. He slowly untied the towel. It hurt to move the towel, and he saw that the blood had dried on the towel and adhered to his wound, as well. He slowly peeled off the towel. It was agonizing. He sprayed the water on his lower leg, watching the blood wash off. It hurt, but he knew the wound needed to be clean. He turned the leg from side to side and saw that there was a small hole on the outside of his calf, a third of the way from the ankle to the knee. On the back side of the calf, about ten centimeters from the entrance wound, there was a somewhat larger exit wound. Good, he thought, at least the bullet didn’t hit bone. The two holes seeped blood. He noticed that Nance had been watching him from the back door. He covered his lap with the bloody towel.
Nance walked out with a large towel and some bandages, cradling her rifle. “Here,” she said, “dry your leg off, then wrap these around the wound.” She sat them within his reach, but kept herself at a distance. “Wrap the towel around yourself and come in the house when you’re able.”
Dana bandaged his leg, then stood up, wrapped the towel around his waist, put his crutch under his arm, and made his way into the back door. Inside the house, there was a sparsely furnished living area, very neat, with a solid wood floor. Nance pointed to an easy chair with her gun, and Dana sat. Nance sat on a barstool at a counter, behind which was a small kitchen. It was cool in the house.