“Is Ringo going to be okay?” Hudson called out.
“I don’t know,” Mike said, without looking back.
“We have about forty-five miles to Cañon City,” called out Lonnie. “We wind up Highway 96 West to 67 West, and then up to 115. Parts of this route go right through residential areas, so we’ll zig and zag as needed. Everyone take their spots,” he called out.
“And as always, eyes open.” We were moving in the morning’s coolness, back on the road I had missed the past couple of days. I was petting Ringo and Mini while Nancy glued a few of the wounds.
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to travel the country by RV?” I asked Jake and Vlad. “Now I’m wishing we had packed up the kids and homeschooled them for a year, hitting every state.”
“I’m guessing it’s a lot like this, minus all of the bad guys lurking around every corner, of course,” replied Jake. “How many lakes or cities have something going on like we just saw back there?”
“Not many, I hope,” I replied, “or maybe a lot; it’s hard to say. And the dogs, what’s up with that?” I asked. “Three weeks ago, they were playing in the backyard of someone’s house, and now they’re…well…they’re just wild!”
“We had four types of wolves in Mother Russia,” said Vlad. “The Caspian Sea, Tibetan, Tundra, and Eurasian. Do you know the difference between a wolf and a dog?” he asked. “Dogs are kept,” he said, not waiting for an answer.
“I see your point,” I said, but can you see Ringo or Mini getting like that, no matter how hungry they get?”
“No, because they are yours,” he replied. “Maybe they let them go, or they just got lost, like this one,” he said, pointing to Mini. “But one thing is clear: nobody will feed them anymore.”
I prayed aloud for Ringo, Mini, the lost dogs, and our family, all of us traveling together. We had only been on the road for an hour, not seeing anyone walking. Ringo seemed the same, no better or worse, and Mini never once left his side.
We stopped for a ten-minute potty break thirty minutes later. Nancy said each child who wanted to see Ringo could pet him, one at a time. Our ten-minute break turned to twenty, as each child took turns petting Ringo and a still-frightened Mini.
“Nothing on the radio,” said Steve, “but we will keep trying.”
“Thanks,” I told him. “I know you are.”
“We’re making good time,” Lonnie announced. “Another couple of hours, if all goes good, and we’ll be just below the town. Stay close; we have a few obstacles to go around. No more bathroom breaks until we get there. So, five more minutes if you need to…” Jake and Shane got us all topped off with gasoline.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Twelve
Heading to Cañon City, Colorado
“Once we start up, don’t stop unless I do, and if that happens, be locked and loaded,” said Lonnie.
The trucks and trailers rolled again, some squeaking under the weight but each soldiering up the mountain’s back in a slow climb to the next encounter. Ringo’s breath seemed shallow and I asked Nancy to check him. She was still on the trailer with me, Jake and Vlad, while Joy watched over Danny.
“Sure, he’s okay so far, just an effect of the meds I gave him,” Nancy said. “Don’t be alarmed if he falls asleep soon. He needs his rest, so don’t wake him.”
Although I wasn’t too surprised and he was asleep in only five or ten more minutes, she was right. I resisted the urge to get face-to-face and check his breathing but kept my hand on his side, feeling the up-and-down cycle I knew was life.
Joy had accurately accused me of it more than once before with our boys. I would check their breathing every night before I slept and, honest to God, never missed a night when I was in town, which was 95% of the time. If they were sick or had a fever, I would check them multiple times each night. I wouldn’t apologize for it but occasionally took some teasing from other, more relaxed parents. Ringo was breathing shallow but steady, and that’s all I could hope for now.
* * * *
Lonnie and his wife navigated like true professionals with our old-school map, keeping us on track and away from most houses and abandoned businesses. The few people walking around seemed to hide from us behind abandoned cars or in the trees.
“They’re lucky the Baker guy’s group isn’t marching through here,” I said.
“I’m guessing they would be in the mountains, two miles deep by now,” replied Jake, as he pointed out possible threats that never materialized.
“These are good people up here in the mountains, minus a few power-hungry ones that every small town has,” said Vlad. “Same as home. The farther you get away from the city, the more people rely on each other.”
“How so?” asked Nancy, overhearing the conversation.
“Well, take a city person, for example,” said Vlad. “They won’t know more than one or two neighbors around them unless maybe they have kids. Now, the same family in the country, in Russia or here, is the same. They know everyone around them. It doesn’t mean they like them all, but they know one another. And in times of bad, they don’t call the police or fire departments; they call each other and help, because next time it could be them.”
“I see your point, but I knew most of my neighbors and lived in the city,” I told them.
“No, no,” replied Vlad. “You lived outside the city, in the suburbs. Not the best, like the wide-open countryside, but better than the city. Plus, you like people. I knew a lot who didn’t. They went through the motions and spoke to those who were close family or long-time friends or those who gave them business to put food on the table. I had a lot of acquaintances over the years, owning my gun shop, but only a few friends.”
“Like Lonnie, right?” asked Jake.
“Yes, like Lonnie and only a few more. I feel that I have more friends here now than at any point in my life, here or there.”
“I know what you mean,” realizing my radio was on, sandwiched between my leg and the trailer, with the talk button engaged. “Sorry,” I said, clicking it off.
“I’m tearing up over here—really I am,” said Lonnie. “But can we just focus for a little bit longer?”
“Copy,” I replied, embarrassed but not feeling bad about it. “Hang on, buddy,” I told Ringo, kissing him on the head.
* * * *
We slowed only minutes later, with Lonnie on the radio.
“We’ve got something up ahead. Be ready but don’t engage. I repeat—don’t engage! I’m going to use your dog, Lance, as the excuse to be here. At least it’s worth a try. Make him look like its life or death, if you can.”
“It is,” I responded flatly. “They can take a look if they need to.”
“I’ll come up slow,” said Jake. “I know the Vet up here—if he’s still alive, of course. Let me do the talking.”
“All right,” said Lonnie, “but I’ll back you up. Pistols only, and none visible, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jake agreed, hoping his man was still there.
* * * *
Lonnie and Jake walked slowly, side-by-side, up the road towards the barricade. It was a mix of vehicles, presumably not working, including an old country-style school bus with the yellow paint looking like it was out of a spray can from a not-talented graffiti artist and a VW bug that just looked out of place up here. In the middle was a purple and yellow pristine Chevrolet Corvette.
“That’s a ’96,” said Jake—the official pace car of the Indy 500 that year and one hell of a ride.
“That’s Carl’s car, right?”
“Who’s Carl?” whispered Lonnie.
“An old friend from high school,” he whispered back.
“How do you know Carl?” came the response from behind the barricade but not revealing themselves.
“My name is Jake, and Carl and I, plus our team of course, brought the Boulder High Panthers to the state championship in ’92 and won it.”
“You’re that quarterback, huh?”
<
br /> “Yes, I was that guy.”
“Hold on,” came the reply.
Lonnie and Jake stood still in the middle of the road, between those they loved and swore to protect and some they had never met. Minutes dragged on, and I was getting nervous about Ringo and passing through here in general. An old truck pulled up behind the barricade fifteen long minutes later. Two more minutes and the voice was clear.
“Jake, is that you?”
“It’s me, Carl! Can we talk?”
“Hang on just a minute,” he said, and there were muffled voices behind the cars. “On that last pass you made to me for the championship, how many yards was it?”
“Twenty-seven, if you asked coach Riley, or twenty-four according to the refs who couldn’t officiate a JV team accurately,” Jake replied.
“Come on up, brother,” Carl said, laughing. He added, “It’s all right” to his people. “Bring your friend, but that’s all for now.
“It’s been a while, old friend,” he said, with a handshake and quick guy hug in the neutral zone.
“This is my friend, Lonnie,” Jake said.
“What brings you through here?” Carl asked.
“It’s a long story, perhaps better over a glass or two of Scotch, but we have a dog, a good dog that got attacked by some others, and I was hoping your dad was around to take a look at him.”
“My pops, he was a good man, but we laid him to rest a few years back.”
“I’m sorry. I know he was one of a kind, never missed a game,” replied Jake.
“Anyone around here who could take a look at the dog? We’ll pay a fair price for it.”
“No money needed, but I’ll take you up on that Scotch later.”
“Wait a minute?” asked Jake.
“I went to Ole Miss—full ride.”
“Yeah, I remember, but lost track of you after that,” replied Jake.
“I thought I might go pro until I blew a knee, and my dad helped me get through Veterinary school. I don’t drive all over the mountains like he did or get up on the bed with a lame animal, but I built a solid clinic—at least it was before…well, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Will you take a look at him? He’s a big boy, but everyone here counts on him for protection.”
“Sure. Where is he?”
“Back on the trailer.”
“Carl, it could be a trap,” came a voice from behind the barrier. “We can’t go with you; it’s protocol or some crap.”
“I’ve known this man since grade school. I’m fine; you guys just hang back until I return.”
Carl followed Jake and Lonnie back to the trailer and took a quick look at Ringo.
“Who glued him up?” Carl asked.
“That’s me,” Nancy replied, holding her hand in the air.
“Okay. All right… Great job.”
After a thorough onsite exam and questions of what happened, he pulled Nancy, Jake and me aside.
“He’s got a chance for sure, with some internal bleeding maybe, but I need to get him to my clinic right now. There’s room for your friends—if that’s what they are, Jake—on my property.”
“Yes, everyone here is a part of our group. And thank you for your hospitality.”
“Ah, it’s nothing. My wife—you know, the girl I was dating my senior year—is an up-and-coming chef. She had two cookbooks on Amazon and was picked to be on one of those reality cooking shows. You know the one. Anyway, she loves people and living in a town of less than 600, I’m sure she would love the company while I check on the big guy. And our little girl, Izabella, loves new friends but doesn’t meet too many around here. How many pounds is your dog, anyway?”
“154,” I said, ready to get past the small talk. “Can we take him to your place now?” I asked, not worrying if I was direct.
“Oh yes, sure. Right this way.”
* * * *
He directed us to a side road before the barricade, where he stopped briefly to talk with the men guarding it. We drove slowly down a curved mountain dirt road, due to the steep grade, towards a lush valley below.
“Wow!” said Jake. “I’ve never been up here. It’s beautiful country.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Vlad, smiling. “The kind of country where an old Russian might start over, maybe even raise a family, no?”
“Maybe so,” I said, petting Ringo. “Almost there, buddy,” I whispered in his ear. “Hold on.”
The farm was small but efficient, sitting next to a picturesque stream where a trout would come to the surface of a pool after an insect every few minutes.
“Make yourself at home,” Carl said, as we got Ringo off the truck.
He caught me watching the fish in the deeper holes.
“Yeah, there are a few big ones in there,” he said. “You all can fish it if you want while I take a look at this big guy.”
“Yes, Daddy!” said my boys. “Let’s catch a lot of fish!”
“We’ll talk about it in a minute, guys,” I told them, feeling bad I would have to break up their excitement but not wanting to miss a teaching opportunity. “Come on over, boys,” I said, once Ringo was inside. We walked to the edge of the river with them all asking to go get their poles. “Okay,” I said, getting on one knee. “Is this a big or small creek?”
“Kind of small,” replied Hudson.
“Yes, son, that’s right. And there are only so many fish in a small creek. When I was a boy of maybe 12 years old, my friends and I would start up the river and follow it down as it wound its way through several farmers’ properties. We pulled trout out of the fishing holes on their property, and in return they would shoot at us with shotguns!”
“Did you die?” asked Jax.
“Well, no. They used something called rock salt that would leave a good bruise if you got hit.”
“That wasn’t very nice of them,” added Hudson.
“Maybe so, but we were the ones on their properties, taking home fish that didn’t belong to us. It means more even now up here, because the folks living around here can’t just go to the grocery store to buy food anymore. This, what’s close by, is what they have to live on. These fish here will provide food for the people who live here—maybe tomorrow or months from now, but it will happen, I’m sure of that. We have freezers full of fish already, so we will play a fun game instead. Everyone tries to catch a grasshopper. We will have a contest when we throw them into the creek, and whoever’s grasshopper gets hit by the biggest fish wins.”
“What are you saying, Daddy?” asked Jax. “We can’t go fishing?”
“Yes, son, not here is what I’m telling you.”
“We’ll just throw them back in, and they can stay alive,” said Hendrix.
“That’s a good plan, my little man, but not every fish returned to the water stays alive. Sometimes they get hooked wrong or just get too tired from the fight to swim again. These people here need to fish this creek, not us.”
“Awe,” they all said.
“Don’t look,” I said, pointing across to the house. “That’s Izabella over there, and she could maybe use some playmates. Wait! I said don’t look!”
Too late, they were full speed towards the tire swing, something no young boy can pass up.
“Y’all got lucky this time,” I said in my best exaggerated Texas drawl, adding, “there’s some fishermen in that bunch!”
“Talking to fish, huh?” said Mike, putting his hand on my shoulder. I probably would have jumped a week or even a few days ago, but I was getting used to him appearing out of nowhere.
“You going fishing?” I asked, seeing him with a pole and hearing Javi calling, “Wait up, Daddy!”
“Well, I was until I overheard your little speech to the boys—you’re right, and now I’m not. Go play with the boys on the tire swing, Javi,” he said. “I’ll be over in a few.”
* * * *
We both sat down, facing the river, Mike and me.
“Thanks, man, for wha
t you did,” I told him.
“Ringo is a part of the family,” Mike replied. “And besides, those other things were not dogs anymore—they were killers.”
“I appreciate that too, but I meant back at the lake. You took a village of people with no hope and turned them into, I don’t know, a village of promise, at least. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what will happen, but they are on a level playing field, at least.”
“What are you going to do when we get to Saddle Ranch?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Out here on the open road, there is always something to watch out for or fix. Won’t you be bored there?”
Mike smiled. “I keep hearing that,” he said. “The short answer, I guess, is there is always someone who could use some help, and from what I’ve seen so far there is no shortage of A-holes, pre- or post-apocalypse.”
“That’s the short answer, huh?” I asked.
“Yes, the longer one is what I came over to talk to you about.”
“Ah, okay. Is there anyone else who should hear it?”
“Yes. Here she comes.”
“Hey, honey. Mike has something to share with us.”
“I heard,” Joy replied, sitting down next to me, with Mike on my other side.
“I know you both haven’t known me for too long, and what you do know is messy at best,” he started. “There are a couple of reasons I’m able to do what I do without getting scared or, at the very least, too nervous about completing the task.
“First, I’m not afraid to die. I’m not sure if I’ll go to the same place as my brother and sister, but it won’t be so bad if I can.
“Second, I see things, or hear them maybe. I’m not sure how it works, but I know the outcome to a degree if I intervene in a situation versus if I don’t. Maybe it’s all in my head, or God uses me as some kind of bad angel that cleans up messes. I don’t know. What I do know is none of it ever really worried me before. Even the battle we had after adding Sheila and Javi to my life didn’t cause me concern. It’s what lies ahead that worries me, keeps me from sleeping good—the Great Battle, the one for the Valley.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” I said. “I still have family there and friends I grew up with. Plus, we’ll all be there, and we’ve already faced them once.”
Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming] Page 11