There was one more thing they’d need, though.
And Dave would have to find it, for young Beth didn’t know what to look for.
Dave openly laughed when he got to the front of the truck and saw that Beth had fished out the boxes she wanted from three food pallets.
Then she carefully took all the boxes she’d put aside and restacked them neatly back onto the pallets.
That, in a nutshell, was his youngest daughter.
Just as she’d never leave a mess for someone else to pick up, she’d always go the extra mile to help someone else.
Dave remembered, back in San Antonio, having to yell at Lindsey constantly to pick up her room.
Beth’s, on the other hand, was always neat as a pin. Everything had a place and everything was in that place.
He hoped it was a trait she held onto in the harsh realities of post-apocalyptic America.
He found what he was looking for. Actually, he’d hoped to find some bags of stew stock. Dried potatoes and carrots and celery with powdered broth.
What he stumbled across instead was the next best thing: canned stew vegetables.
One cannot make rabbit stew without vegetables.
They’d stopped for the day in a stand of trees at a roadside picnic area. It was within view of a huge billboard advertising a hotel in Gallup.
One of the prepper friends Dave used to communicate with by ham radio claimed to live in Gallup.
He went by “Indian Joe.”
This was Native American country.
Navajo, Lacoma, Acoma, mostly.
They’d become radio friends because in passing conversations they learned they’d both been United States Marines.
They’d served in the same unit, though at different times. Joe was older and seemed like a nice man.
He’d told Dave that if his travels ever brought him close to Gallup to let him know when. They’d make arrangements to meet, and he’d do what he could to make Dave’s journey easier.
Dave had told him at the time that he appreciated the offer. But that the only place he expected to travel in the coming years was to Kansas City to retrieve his family.
And then to take them back to San Antonio.
Most preppers are helpful, especially to others like them. But many are so secretive they make it hard to get to know them.
And, truth be known, many of them are so paranoid they don’t want to socialize with other preppers. They suspect that anyone they talk to is a potential adversary. So the easiest thing for them to do is to avoid all human contact outside their group.
Joe wasn’t like that.
Joe was outgoing and more than willing to share whatever he knew about prepping to anyone wanting to learn. He was also genuine. Dave had the sense everything Joe told him was the honest to God truth.
Dave asked him once why he was so free to announce he lived not far from Gallup, New Mexico.
“Most of the other preppers I talk to on the radio won’t tell their locations,” Dave said.
Joe answered, “I suspect they live in places where there’s a lot of violence; where their neighbors, if they knew where they lived, would come and try to take their stuff.
“If you’d ever been to Gallup, you’d understand. It’s pretty much out in the middle of nowhere. Not hard to get to in a car, but in the absence of cars it’s a miserable walk which would take a very long time.
“In all likelihood coming here to rob me wouldn’t be worth the time. Plus I’m almost full-blooded Navajo, so they’d have a lot more fight than they’d bargain for.”
He made Dave laugh when he said, “I’d deal them a great big helping of old fashioned Indian whoop-ass. We don’t scalp people very much anymore, but I’d make an exception.”
“You sound full-blooded to me.”
“Nah. Almost, but not quite. My great-great-great grandmother was raped by a U.S. Cavalry soldier when she was a young squaw. She had a blue-eyed red-headed baby girl. Family legend was that she was a pretty thing, but kind of outcast in the tribe. She was married to a full-blood, and eventually the blood of the white man in my family thinned.
My grandfather had one blue eye and one brown eye, though, so I guess a little of it still runs through my own veins.
Chapter 32
Indian Joe told Dave over the radio waves that before the world went to hell he lived a comfortable life.
“I sold real estate for many years and was pretty damn good at it,” he claimed. “Enough to buy a nice home for the good times and build a prepper compound outside of Gallup for the bad. And enough to finance my collection of Apaches.”
It was the last part which confused Dave just a bit and required clarification.
“You mean Apaches as in Apache Indians? And just how would you collect them?”
Joe laughed at his long-distance friend.
“No, dummy. Apache pickup trucks. I guess I should have been more clear, so you didn’t think I was kidnapping people from the Apache Nation and locking them in my basement or something.”
It turned out Joe had an affinity for the Apache pickup trucks Chevrolet manufactured in the late 1950s. They had a very distinctive look which was prized by collectors even half a century later.
“My grandpa had a 1958 Apache when I was a kid. He used to let us kids ride in the back. It was the truck we used when he taught me how to drive.
“The funny thing was, he loved the truck but didn’t love the name. He removed the nameplate from the sides of the truck, the ones that said ‘Chevrolet Apache’ and filled in the holes that held it into place.
“He had a good friend who was an amazing artist, and he had his friend paint a similar plate onto the truck. Only instead of ‘Chevrolet Apache, it said ‘Chevrolet Navajo.’”
Dave asked, “So your Grandpa didn’t like Apaches?”
“Oh, no. It was nothing like that. I mean, generations ago, the two tribes fought. They fought for land and for buffalo and sometimes they just fought for the hell of it.
“But these days the only things they fight are stereotypes and the federal government, for the way they treat the modern Indians. These days they fight side by side.”
“I notice you refer to your people as Indians. I thought you guys preferred ‘Native Americans.’
“Oh, hell no. That name was dreamed up by some Washington politician somewhere because he thought we were embarrassed by our Indian heritage and wanted to bury it in our past.
“It was all horseshit from the very beginning. Any self-respecting Indian is proud of his heritage. Until you white men came along we’d roamed this country for a very long time. We were strong and capable. Much stronger than the white man. Except you guys thought it would be cool to come in and take our land from us.
“We repelled you for a long time, but you had rifles. You used the rifles to slaughter us and to cower us and to make us surrender and live on your reservations.”
“I’m sorry about all that,” Dave said.
“Not your place to apologize. You can’t help what your ancestors did. Anyway, it may sound like I’m angry about it, but the anger wore off a long time ago.
“Here’s what I can tell you about the term ‘Native American.’ It’s a term mostly used by white people to describe us.
“Every self-respecting Indian I know prefers to be called Indian. It’s a proud name, a strong name. Of course, it’s even better to call us by our tribal names. If we ever meet and you introduce me to someone else, I’d prefer you say, ‘This is my friend Joe. He’s a Navajo.’
“I’d settle for, ‘This is my friend Joe. He’s an Indian.’
“If you introduce me as ‘This is my friend Joe. He’s a Native American,’ I’ll scalp you and leave you in the desert to die.”
Dave remembered thinking that was a good time to change the subject.
Or at least to get back to the original subject.
“So, if your Grandpa didn’t hate Apaches, why did he rename his truck?
“Out of pure jealousy. He was pissed because the Apache got their own truck and the Navajo didn’t. So he changed it.
“He sold it when I was seventeen and when I was older I spent a lot of time looking for that old truck. I finally found it in a field on an isolated ranch in Las Cruces. It was all rusty and the windows were gone. But it was my grandpa’s truck and I had to have it.
“The guy thought I was crazy when I offered him five grand for the old relic. But I’d have gone into hock and would have paid a lot more if he’d refused.
“I restored it fully, including the ‘Chevrolet Navajo’ on the sides, and I drove it all over New Mexico for years. I still have it and drive it around my compound’s perimeter when I check my fences and traps.”
Dave was surprised.
“Wait a minute. It still runs?”
“Oh, yeah. All of them do.”
“All of them?”
“I collect two things. Old Apache pickup trucks and horses.
“I collect horses because they’re like the Indians. They once roamed this land freely. They were majestic and strong. And now they’re no longer allowed to run free. They’re mostly kept in tiny stalls with little room to move, except on the weekends when men and women with fat asses struggle to climb on them and ride them around a tiny corral.
“Just so they can feel good about themselves and consider themselves cowboys.
“I collect horses so I can set them free. I did quite well in the real estate game. Now I own a ranch that’s big enough for me to set a horse loose on it and never see it again.
“It’s my payment to the horses for the loyalty and hard work they did for my ancestors.
“The other thing I collected was, yes, Apache pickups. And I stored them in a barn I lined in sheet metal. You see, I knew someday the EMPs would return. They came in 1852 but didn’t do any damage because there were no electronics.
“But Navajo legend tells of a great flash in the sky. Women and children who were very sensitive got nauseous and threw up. Or dizzy and light-headed. Horses lost their footing and fell over.
“It’s my belief that the 1852 EMPs were far greater than the ones which struck us a year and a half ago. They weren’t written up in the history books because they did no damage to speak of. There was nothing really for them to destroy.”
Chapter 33
Indian Joe took a break at that point to get himself a cold beer.
Dave was jealous.
He came back after a couple of minutes and picked up where he left off.
“I knew the EMPs would be back at some point.
“They, like pretty much everything else in the universe, run in cycles.
“That’s why I have seven Apache pickups sitting in what I call my ‘protected barn.’”
That was when Dave told his friend of his Ford Explorer. He knew Dave lived in San Antonio. But San Antonio was a big city, and there was no way anyone else listening in could pinpoint Dave’s location.
“I didn’t have the resources to buy a bunch of pickups, or build a barn to store them in. But I did get my Explorer running so I have wheels when I go to Kansas City to pick up my family.”
“Really? Good for you. How’d you do it?”
“I had enough room in my garage to build a Faraday cage. Not big enough to put a vehicle in, but big enough for spare parts and some other electronic items.
“I had a starter and a generator and electronic ignition and fuel injection components. And a spare battery too. My Explorer actually died in the street when I was on my way home from the airport, but it was only a block away. I was able to get it into neutral and push it home in the dead of night.”
“Good show of ingenuity and planning ahead. Good for you, my friend.”
“What do you plan to do with your fleet of Apaches?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Someday when the world gets more normal, I supposed I’ll sell them or barter them. I prefer barter, because that’s the old Indian way, but these days there isn’t much of anything somebody else has that I want.
“So I suppose I’ll sell them at some point, or leave them to my grandkids. But not my Grandpa’s Navajo. I’ll drive that until the day I die. I told my kids to park it over my grave and turn it into a grave marker.”
Dave and Indian Joe had never laid eyes upon each other, but they became good friends. Dave told him he hoped the world became normalized soon so he could take a trip to Gallup to meet Joe.
Joe told him he was welcome anytime, but to wait until the world was less dangerous.
The two hadn’t talked in months.
The last time they spoke on the radio Dave told him he was getting ready to strike out for Kansas City. He expected to be back in San Antonio, with Sarah and the girls, in a couple of months.
It hadn’t worked out that way.
Eating rabbit stew with a plastic spoon from a paper bowl, Dave asked Sal, “Do you mind if we stop in Gallup for a day?”
Sal looked at him like he had three heads.
“No, I don’t mind. But why in the world would you want to stop in Gallup?”
“I have a prepper friend who lives somewhere close to there. I haven’t talked to him in a very long time, and I’m not sure exactly where he lives. But if we can find him it might be worth our while.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He was able to save several pickups from being destroyed. He has them, sitting in a barn on his property somewhere near Gallup.”
“And you say they still run?”
“Yes. I asked him what he planned to do with them, and he said he would eventually barter them. I think I could talk him into trading one of them for your rig, if you’re willing.”
Sal had been driving his rig for a long time now. He was rather fond of it.
But not so fond he wouldn’t trade it for an honest-to-goodness running pickup truck.
“But why would he barter a working pickup for one that was broken down and had to be pulled by two horses?”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t know that he would. He might say no.
“But Joe… Indian Joe, that’s his name… Joe also loves horses. He considers them the ancestors of the horses once ridden by the noblest of the Indian tribes. He loves horses so much he used to buy them, just to set them free.
“That was before the blackout, of course. I don’t know if he buys them now. But a horse lover wouldn’t stop loving horses just because the power goes out and sends us back two hundred years.”
Sal pondered the idea, then said, “If it’ll sweeten the deal I’ve got about forty ounces of gold and twenty ounces of silver stashed behind the dashboard of the pickup.”
Dave was a bit taken aback.
“Seriously? That’s probably twenty thousand dollars worth of precious metals. Where did you get it? If you don’t mind me asking, that is…”
“Oh, I don’t mind you asking at all. Before we got to your sister-in-law’s farm, where we met Beth, Nellie and I drove through a good part of Oklahoma and Missouri.
“We’d just found our son murdered. And our daughter-in-law and little Becky too. We buried them in their back yard and didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t stay there, and going back home wasn’t an option either. There were just too many photographs of Becky there. Too many mementos to remind us of our little Vito.
“With nowhere in particular to go we just wandered. Looking for a new home, I guess.
“This was before we decided to go to Adelanto to stay with my brother Benny.
“Somewhere in Oklahoma, I think… or it might have been Missouri, I met a young lady who once repossessed cars.
“One morning I was breaking camp and she just walked up out of nowhere. She was such a sweet girl. She said everyone called her ‘Repo Chick’ but that I could call her Julie if I wanted.
“She was tired of walking and asked if she could ride along with me for awhile.
“At that time, Nellie was in such bad shape I was lucky to get three wo
rds out of her on any given day. I was lonely and the chance to have someone to talk to was like a gift from heaven.”
Chapter 34
At that point Beth let out a blood-curdling scream from fifty yards away.
Dave was off like a shot.
Sal did the best he could do for an old man with bad knees and wasn’t far behind him.
Dave didn’t have to ask what she was screaming about.
He could plainly see the four-foot long diamondback rattlesnake slithering off into the brush.
He could easily have killed it. But in all likelihood it would spend the rest of its life without ever coming across another human. Killing it would be pointless.
What was much more important was determining what damage it caused.
“Honey, did it bite you?”
“No. He didn’t get real close to me. He was coming toward me but I screamed at him and he turned away.”
The poor child was standing there, a roll of toilet paper in one hand, trembling.
“Daddy, I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.”
“At home I never had to go off in the woods to pee. And even if I did, they aren’t any mean ugly snakes there.”
“I know, honey. Actually, I’m surprised we haven’t seen any rattlers before now. There’s a lot more of them in this part of the country than there are people.”
Sal walked up, desperate to know what had happened. By then the snake was long gone.
“Beth, are you okay?”
Dave answered for her.
“She saw a rattler. But she scared him off. He didn’t want to mess with my little Wonder Woman.”
She smiled and said, “I guess I did scare him off, huh?”
“You darned sure did, sweetie.”
“You know,” Sal said, “It’s probably safer for her to use the restroom on the highway. We’re lucky this didn’t happen before now.”
“Ewww, yuck!” Beth exclaimed. “I know everybody else goes on the highway. But that’s nasty and there ain’t no privacy and I ain’t gonna do it!”
Dave said, “How about if we do it so you have privacy? And we’ll make sure there aren’t any snakes around too.”
A Tearful Reunion Page 12