Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival

by Joe Nobody

  They skirted several more groups of people and finally made it to the interstate. After listening for several minutes and scanning with the NVD, they scrambled up an embankment and took cover behind what used to be a guardrail. The wooden posts had been cut below the steel rail and above the ground for firewood. The rail, too heavy to use, was lying on the asphalt surface.

  Bishop almost lost control of his stomach from the smell. The combination of burnt plastic, decomposing bodies, and other odors he couldn’t identify was overwhelming. After ensuring he wasn’t going to ‘blow,” he refocused, looking east and then west. The scene before them was unbelievably apocalyptic. Despite Nick’s earlier warnings, Bishop couldn’t stop staring. He was having trouble comprehending the devastation on the roadway.

  Both sides of the great highway were packed with cars, trucks and vehicles of every kind. A few were on their sides, some flipped over completely with their wheels pointing skywards. Several had burned and practically all of them had the hood, truck and doors open, a sure sign they had been scavenged. The few gaps that didn’t contain a vehicle were covered with broken glass and other debris. Directly in front of them was a semi-trailer from a furniture store with the delivery doors wide open. Piles of cloth, cushions and lampshades were strewn all around the trailer bed. Bishop imagined the wood from the furniture was now being used to cook grasshoppers. Any truck that even hinted of edible cargo had probably been looted first.

  Nick tapped him on his shoulder and mouthed, “You okay?” Bishop nodded, mentally snapping out of it. Nick looked again in both directions and then moved out with the grace of a big cat. Bishop put his hand on the ground to shove off and felt something odd. He looked down to see a partially decomposed human arm under his gloved hand. He wasted no time in following Nick.

  They were about one mile east of the exit and had to stay in the traffic lanes for cover. They moved from wreck, to rusted hulk, to overturned van for several minutes. Bishop was on one knee behind a car, waiting on Nick to scout their next move. He heard glass crunch and spun his head toward the noise. He didn’t need the night vision to see a rather large skinny dog with huge teeth. The animal seemed to think Bishop looked like a good meal. Bishop couldn’t shoot the dog as the noise would give away their position and attract unwanted attention. He had his knife, but doubted he could reach it in time. The dog didn’t growl or snarl, it just stared at Bishop with stone cold eyes. As Bishop started to stand upright, the animal sprang.

  Bishop knew the animal would go for his throat. The average person has a survival reaction of throwing up an arm to block the leaping set of teeth coming at his windpipe. Bishop had the same reaction, but managed to use his rifle barrel instead. The dog’s powerful jaws gripped the barrel instead of Bishop, and they both fell to the ground. Bishop landed on his back with the dog trying to tear the barrel out of his grip. The animal viciously jerked its head left and then right trying to remove this hard obstacle out of its way and get to the softer meat it could sense behind it. After failing to pull the rifle out of Bishop’s hands, the dog let loose of the barrel and reared its head for a downward strike. Bishop’s hand struck out and landed a strong blow at the dog’s throat right below the jaw line. The animal paused, completely surprised, and Bishop struck again in the same place, only harder.

  The animal twisted off Bishop and staggered back. It lowered its head and made a sound halfway between a cough and a gag. It looked over at Bishop and repeated the same sound. It staggered in a circle once and then fell to its side. Its last vision was of Bishop’s arm striking downward, holding his knife.

  Bishop just lay on the ground trying to catch his breath. He started to sit up once, but only made it to an elbow. He heard a sound behind him, and somehow managed to spin around holding his knife out. Nick was standing about 10 feet away, leaning against a truck cab. He knelt down by Bishop and whispered, “You alright?” Bishop nodded and kept drinking in air. Nick handed him a bottle of water, and Bishop managed a couple of mouthfuls between gasps. Nick helped him to his feet and waited a few minutes until Bishop gave him the thumbs up sign. Nick leaned close to Bishop’s ear and whispered, “I have seen a lot of shit in my day, but that one takes the cake. Now is not the time, but later I’m going to have to know who the fuck you are.” Before Bishop could respond, Nick was gone.

  They played leapfrog using the wrecks as cover for almost a half mile before Nick stopped and pointed toward the sky. Bishop tilted his head and could barely make out a pole that seemed to disappear into the stars. Switching to night vision, he could make out the sign at the top, complete with a voluptuous woman advertising a steak house at this exit. Bishop leaned over to Nick and whispered, “We should go there sometime; they have an endless salad bar and prime rib on Tuesdays.”

  They made their way to the base of the big pole and were relieved no one had camped there. Bishop tapped Nick on the shoulder and whispered, “See you tomorrow,” as he climbed up the ladder.

  Bishop was not a big fan of heights. To be accurate, he had no problem with heights, or falling from them for that matter. It was the concept of the landing that bothered him. As he mounted the pole, he couldn’t help but take in the view. He could see small fires, blinking in the distance in all directions. When he reached the top, he encountered his first problem – the pole-ladder ended at a trapdoor that the climber would push up, proceeding to the narrow railing that surrounded the sign. The trapdoor was padlocked with a high quality, heavy-duty lock. Bishop did not have any tools with him and was not a burglar anyway. He looked around for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. He could always retreat to the house and try to come up with another idea. The thought of having to do that made him mad. It was taking them forever to get out west, and he was sick and tired of the driving, killing, and living in constant fear.

  Thinking about wasting yet another 24 hours affected his common sense. He looked from the ladder to the edge of the rail several times and kept thinking, I can make that. He took off his pack and strapped it onto his chest. With one hand digging around inside, he fished out a roll of duct tape. He started to pull the tape, but the noise made him jump, and he almost dropped the roll. Plan B, he thought.

  In the next few minutes, Bishop secured himself to the pole-ladder using his belt and made a makeshift rope from his pack straps. He managed to swing the pseudo-rope over the edge of the rail and pull himself up. He did a chin up, threw a leg over the rail, and pulled himself over onto the steel mesh walkway surrounding the billboard. He was covered in sweat and just lay there for a bit. After a pause, he pulled his pack and rifle up and sat with his back to the billboard, partially covering the huge letter “E” in “Endless Salad Bar.”

  The sign had been designed for men to climb up the pole and change the advertising. The steel mesh floor that surrounded the big billboard was only 30 inches wide. Bishop was sure that the maintenance men had some sort of safety line that attached to the rail in order to work with less risk. He had no such line, so he walked slowly around to the other side and looked down at the buildings below.

  As he surveyed the exit he thought, This place was probably not one of the more popular stops, even during good times. There were two gas stations on opposite corners, a fast food joint, a small hotel, and of course, the steak restaurant. A few other buildings were scattered up and down the road, but Bishop had no idea what they had been. The parking lot of every business in sight was packed with vehicles, except the hotel. On all sides of the hotel, it looked like the cars had been pushed by a bulldozer into a neighboring field.

  He was about 80 feet in the air and less than three football fields from the closest building. The vantage point was perfect.

  Bishop moved around to the other side of the billboard, pulling a box cutter knife from his pack. He carefully sliced the bottom 40 inches of the vinyl sign for about 10 feet in length. He slowly peeled it off, getting all of the “Endless Salad Bar” lettering. The irony of thousands of starving people looking up at
an advertisement for a steak eatery was not lost on him.

  He rolled up “Endless Salad Bar” before going to the other side. He pulled out a bag of very sticky brown goo, pinesap gathered from a tree at Nick’s. He used his finger to dab his glue along the top of his Endless banner and stuck it in place over the top of the same lettering. He let the bottom of his attachment hang loose. After cutting a small hole at the bottom of each end of his banner, he threaded in a short piece of line with a fishing hook at each end. A quick test proved he could secure the bottom of the banner to the mesh floor to keep it from flapping in the wind. He took his pack and rifle and pushed them against the base of the sign under his “tent.” Lifting the bottom up, he rolled underneath it with his back to the board. He had made a small lean-to, and from almost any angle, the sign would look normal, even with Bishop hiding underneath it. If someone were to study it, they would assume the bottom had started to peel off or was just fraying out. He positioned his notebook, pencil, and scope right where he could reach them and cut a small slit in the vinyl to spy through. He then took his beef jerky and water and tucked them behind his back. He adjusted his pack to be a pillow and thought taking a short nap now would be wise.

  He didn’t think he had been asleep long when a distant popping noise woke him up. The noise repeated several more times, and it took his sleepy mind a few seconds to realize it was gunfire. He could make out three slightly different tones of the sound, which he assumed were different types of weapons. The noise continued on and off for almost 15 minutes, and then stopped. Somebody is having a bad night, he thought as he drifted back to sleep.

  When he woke up, he had to urinate very badly and laughed at himself for not having a plan for that. He could pee through the wire mesh floor under him, but didn’t know how far the urine would fly given the height and breeze that was blowing. The sun was just starting to rise, so it was light enough for anyone looking up to see. He figured he didn’t have any choice, and undid his zipper. He slowly worked himself a little more sideways so that he could put the tip through an opening in the mesh floor. He relaxed and let it go, sighing with relief. He looked down to see his stream flowing with the wind at least 30 feet. What an arch! This gives a whole new meaning to the term “pissing contest.”

  There would be no hot coffee this morning, but he had a drink of water and chewed on beef jerky. He had taken the big scope off its rifle, and it was sitting next to his head. He looked at his watch, 6:40 a.m. He observed his surroundings in the daylight to get his bearings and make sure he had not missed anything significant during the night. He quickly noted that there were three over watch sentries. All three of the Hefei’s men were on different rooftops, and within sight of each other. Smart.

  For the rest of the morning, Bishop watched people wander around, noting nothing of interest. This probably looks identical to what thousands of refugee camps have looked like throughout history. He began sketching all of the buildings and their features. He also did his best to sketch the guards, noting the weapons and other equipment they carried. As he documented the scene below him, the gloom and suffering of the place seemed to fill his mind. He was watching two children roll a tire around in the dirt when both of them stopped their play and looked up. He moved the scope in the direction of their gaze, and what he saw was completely out of place.

  Two young ladies were walking out of the hotel together and smoking cigarettes. They were clean, with well-coiffed hair and impeccable dress. They were both tall, attractive girls who looked like they just stepped out of the local shopping mall. They chatted while casually making their way to the fence surrounding the hotel swimming pool. Walking a step or two behind them were two men who were clearly bodyguards. Bishop could easily determine their function by how their heads were constantly looking around instead of eyeing the pretty girls beside them. The gals addressed another group of young men, pointing and issuing orders. Bishop was fascinated as he watched the men set up folding tables and chairs complete with red-checkered tablecloths. We are going to have a picnic he thought. Before long, a large barbeque grill was rolled out, and smoke was meandering skyward. No, it’s a good old fashion Sunday BBQ. I wonder if the coleslaw is any good.

  The aroma of the smoking meat drew quite a crowd from the neighboring campers, and they headed for the BBQ in droves. When Bishop looked back at the tables, he could see several men had formed a perimeter around the area to keep the gathering refugees away. Within an hour, the crowd surrounding the BBQ was several people deep. He didn’t notice any pushing or shoving; it was as if everyone were standing and watching a parade. It wasn’t long before the attention of the crowd turned toward the hotel again, and Bishop was rewarded with his first view of the Hefei.

  The Hefei was a large Hispanic who Bishop estimated was 6’5” tall. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a sleeveless leather jacket. He was heavily muscled with a clean-shaven face and head. He walked out of a room and waved to the girls as Bishop recorded his room number in his notebook. The Hefei made his way down the stairs, and with a security contingent in tow, proceeded to the grill. That’s how he maintains control, thought Bishop. The man can smoke up a batch of ribs that just can’t be beat. Bishop noted the bodyguards, their numbers and their patterns.

  After the Hefei made sure all was well at the grill, he walked over for what appeared to be a somewhat private conversation with his bodyguards. About that time, Bishop heard several engines start on the other side of the interstate. From his angle, he couldn’t see exactly where they came from, but all of a sudden, eight motorcycles were heading for the underpass. They stopped right before going under the bridge that carried I-10 over the road. He couldn’t see what was happening under the bridge, but after a few minutes, the bikers put their machines in gear and started heading toward the BBQ. Bishop watched as they came out from underneath I-10 on his side and proceeded to the hotel parking lot. The put their kickstands down and all but one of the bikers stood beside their machines, pulling their rifles around, but keeping them pointed down. The lead biker walked up to the Hefei, and they sized each other up, exchanged a handshake, then gave each other a less than enthusiastic shoulder to shoulder hug. They talked for a bit, and Bishop would have given anything to hear the conversation. He could tell from the body language of the guards on both sides that this was no picnic.

  A door at The Steak House opened, and men started unloading boxes of food and what looked like freshly butchered racks of beef. The meat was thrown on the grill, and the side dishes were distributed to the tables. The Hefei continued to talk to the leader of the pack, and Bishop noticed several hand gestures by both men. This tête-à-tête continued for some time until the Hefei turned and waved in the direction of his hotel headquarters. A door to a room opened, and two men were shoved outside. Their hands were bound behind their backs, and Bishop could see they wore similar jackets to the bikers. The guards escorted them down the hotel stairs where they were brought before the two leaders.

  The biker king turned and waved at the bridge. Someone yelled, and Bishop heard another engine start. A pickup truck began to follow the same route taken earlier by the bikers. In the back of the pickup truck were three men on their knees with hands tied behind their backs. I am watching a prisoner exchange.

  The exchange was completed without incident, with the ex-prisoners hustled away from the party. It’s never good to have undesirables at such a nice social gathering. The conversations continued until the meat was sufficiently charred, and then the Hefei and his guests ate voraciously while hundreds of starving people watched in silence. Bishop couldn’t understand why everyone just stood there and watched. I would at least walk away rather than be tortured like that. The guards took turns eating and keeping the crowd back. As soon as everyone had their fill, it became clear why the crowd was standing around. The men who had set up the tables began gathering the paper plates full of scraps in their arms, and then throwing them into the crowd of refugees.

  People scr
ambled, pushed, and shoved for the remnants of the meal. Bishop saw one older lady fall. Everyone just ignored her. The Hefei sat up in his chair and enjoyed the show. With the girls at his side, he would point and laugh at the fighting masses. It took 10 minutes before the feeding frenzy was over and the crowd began to disperse.

  Someone put on music, and the two girls moved to the table closest to the Hefei. They started dancing with each other and tried to get the Hefei to join them, but he waved them off. The girls then went around and danced for the bikers, who were hooting and hollering and reaching out to grab them. Someone brought out bottles of booze, and the biker king offered up a box of cigars.

  Both groups drank, smoked, and watched the girls dance for almost an hour. Suddenly, the Hefei commanded the music be turned off and the mood became somber. The girls left and all but the most important people went and did other things. It’s time for a serious discussion by the big wigs. Bishop watched the dialogue back and forth go on for almost 30 minutes. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the body language and motions made it pretty clear. He was watching a peace conference, and you only had peace conferences if there were war.

  An agreement seemed to be reached because suddenly handshakes were exchanged and hugs were more genuine. The underlings were waved back to the table area. More food and drink was brought out and the music started again. Bishop saw one of the hotel doors open, and the two girls came out, this time in bikinis. He could hear the hoots and whistles from the big, happy family all the way to his perch.

  The girls didn’t waste any time. After throwing back a few, they proceeded to work their way around the various clusters of bikers and bangers, dancing up a storm. It wasn’t long before their tops were off, increasing the party’s tempo. Honestly, Terri, I didn’t know they were going to have strippers at the party. The Hefei stood next to the biker king and waved the girls over. Both of them bounced over and got on their knees in front of the smiling lead biker. Probably want to double check that he didn’t drip any BBQ sauce on his jeans. They proceeded to unzip the man’s pants, and Bishop could see that they were each doing their best to impress him. After a few minutes, the biker looked up at the Hefei, pointed at the blonde and nodded. The Hefei made a sweeping gesture with his hand that said, “Be my guest,” and after a quick zipper adjustment, the happy biker and the blonde proceeded to a room. Sometimes it’s good to be King.