Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival

by Joe Nobody

  She could clearly hear them laughing now, and her response sparked even more debate.

  “How about we just roll out there and grab that pretty ass; and after we are done with you, we go find your car parked up the road and just take the ammo and whiskey? How’s that for a trade?”

  “You wouldn’t like that trade because right now, two of you are in the crosshairs of very powerful sniper rifles, and if you even scratch your balls funny, you will be cut in half.”

  “Bullshit. You probably have one person with you, and they are probably guarding your car. Set the rifle down, or we will sit you down.”

  She almost smiled when the flashlights started searching the surrounding brush again.

  “Fine. You boys don’t want to do a fair trade – you can kiss my ass.” Terri spun around, flipped her skirt up enough to show her bare bottom and started walking back up the road, hoping they wouldn’t shoot. She also hoped that Bishop had not seen her flash the boys because the removal of her panties had been a last minute addition to the plan.

  “Hold on!” came a shout from the trucks. She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “Why should we believe you got us covered? Tell me that.”

  She spun, making sure the skirt flew up when she did and yelled back, “Look guys, I have been driving for two straight days. I’m tired, almost out of gas, and my boyfriend has had the shits and cramps. Do you want to do a trade or not?”

  God, I hope he didn’t see that skirt fly up, she thought to herself.

  “Tell ya what. We will let you pass if we can have a little party with you and some of that whiskey. We won’t hurt you - we just want to have a snip or two and a little fun. “

  Terri acted as if she were seriously considering their proposal. She shifted her rifle around just a bit so that the front sight caught on her skirt. She shifted the rifle just a bit more, and it pulled up her skirt. COME ON BISHOP, she thought, I A RUNNING OUT OF OPTIONS HERE.

  Bishop had actually been behind the guard trucks before Terri had ever shouted her first challenge. He had a 12-gauge pump shotgun and had been watching the show since the beginning. He had almost made his move twice when Terri’s act had stopped him. He could see the three guys guarding the road were between 18 and 20 years old and really didn’t know what they were doing. The fact that they were young and piss poor sentries allowed him to relax a bit and just watch the show.

  When he saw Terri’s skirt start to come up, he decided she was either enjoying the hell out of her little tease, or she was getting desperate. Either way, he had had enough, stepped around from behind the truck, and chambered a round into the shotgun.

  A pump shotgun makes an unmistakable noise when a shell is chambered. The pump handle is moved forward and backward making a very distinct sound that many people have described as sounding like “Oh, shit” in gun speak.

  Bishop’s shotgun clearly announced, “Oh, shit” to the three men, and he immediately added, “Put’em down, boys. Show’s over.”

  The man closest to Bishop started to turn and received the hard plastic stock of the shotgun into his ribs for his effort. He dropped his weapon and fell to the ground cursing. The other two just stood there, and Bishop could smell urine as one of them had wet his pants.

  “I said put them down. Nice and slow, just like in the movies. Nobody is going to get hurt unless you move too quickly.”

  Both men slowly bent down and placed their guns on the ground. Bishop told them to take two steps forward and then kicked their weapons away.

  He then took out a set of nylon tie strips and secured each man to the side mirrors of the pickup trucks. He reached in and turned off the lights that were still shining on Terri and then yelled out to her, “Hike that skirt up any higher, and you will have to strike a deal with me.”

  One of the men snorted, and Bishop kicked him in the shin.

  “Ok boys, I am unhappy. My wife just had to show off all her goodies because you idiots didn’t have the good sense to strike a fair deal for some ammo.”

  One of the men started to say something, and Bishop slapped him across the mouth. “Shut the fuck up, hayseed.”

  Terri walked up about then and just stood quietly to the side.

  “Now gentlemen, we are going to have a little discussion. How many ice packs you boys need after we are done depends on how honest you are with me.”

  He pointed the shotgun at the oldest and said, “How long before someone comes out to relieve you?”

  “I don’t know what time is…”

  Bishop kicked the man in the other shin.

  “YOU!” he yelled at the next man, “ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

  “They come at 7 a.m.”

  “Next question, is there a roadblock like this on the other side of town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now the next question, is there anyone on guard in the town?”

  All three of the men just looked at each other and didn’t say anything. Bishop stepped close to the second man, reached down and cupped his testicles. The man inhaled sharply and screamed when Bishop pulled them up.

  “OK, OK, OK, oh gawd, Mister, OK.”

  Bishop let off a little pressure, “I’ll rip them off if I don’t get a straight answer. Is anyone on guard in town?”

  “No, gawd damn it…NO!”

  “Two more questions. What is the signal that you boys need help?”

  “Three shots followed by one shot. Everyone comes running when that happens.”

  “Final question, do you think my wife is hot?” Bishop brought the shotgun up to his shoulder when he asked them the question. All three men looked at each other, then Bishop, and then the shotgun.

  Bishop had never heard so many “umms” and “errrs” and “ahhhhs” before in his life.

  Bishop laughed, but Terri had never heard him laugh like that.

  He spun around and instructed in an ice-cold voice, “Terri, come here please.”

  Terri was hesitant, but walked over. Bishop looked down, and her blood went cold. In the moonlight, she had seen a look in his eyes like she had never seen before. She could feel her throat getting tight, and her heart rate doubled.

  He leaned over and said in a whisper, “Never do that again.”

  Busting through Brewster

  Bishop roughly checked the men for any knives or other weapons. As he approached, they tried to cross their legs to protect their testicles, which caused him to snicker. Bishop flung their weapons far out into the scrub, soon followed by their car keys. Terri left to bring their truck forward and arrived as he was asking the guards how much gas was in their tanks.

  As Bishop started to drain their tanks, he told Terri to shoot the guards if they moved. He also noticed she had put on more clothes.

  Once the gas was drained from both of the roadblock trucks, Terri and Bishop took off for downtown Brewster. Central Texas was dotted with similar towns. Most were originally settled on railroad lines or where there was water. In more recent years, their role changed to supporting nearby cattle ranches. Brewster consisted of a few businesses clustered around the main highway. The small downtown was surrounded by side streets of modest homes.

  When they got to the town, Bishop pointed for Terri to park behind the feed store.

  He got out of the truck, fired his rifle in the air three times and then once, and climbed back in.

  It was about three minutes before two pickup trucks came from the south, zooming past and heading to help the other roadblock. “There they go. Let’s get out of here.”

  Terri raised her night vision, hit the accelerator, and spun the tires taking off. As they headed south, they noticed movement around the sleepy town and knew other reinforcements were trying to wake up to answer the alarm.

  She accelerated the truck to almost eighty and much to Bishop’s relief, kept her focus on the road. After a few minutes, he said, “Terri, slow down – the gas mileage.”

  “I don’t want them to catch up to
us.”

  “They won’t. Right now they are searching the town to make sure we aren’t robbing the feed store.”

  “Bishop, how mad are you?”

  “I’m not mad at you at all. Why do you think I’m upset?” he replied in a flat tone.

  Terri’s tone made it clear she wasn’t buying his response. “Bishop?”

  “I did get a little upset when you turned your back on three men with guns who had already threatened you. You didn’t know if I were there yet or not. That put you in danger, and the thought of your being hurt naturally upsets me.”

  “Bishop, if you are mad at me, please just yell and get it over with. That whole thing did not go down like I thought it would, and I probably messed up several times.”

  “I, um, well – I’m jealous and proud at the same time. This whole thing is so crazy. We had to put you at risk so we could drive down a road? I don’t know – I shouldn’t be mad I guess; it’s all a little confusing right now.”

  “I didn’t enjoy that little charade if that is what you are thinking. I was scared shitless and didn’t know if you had fallen in a hole or been eaten by a rattlesnake or what.”

  “Terri, you showed guts back there, and I know you had to dig deep to hold it together. What is making me so mad is the fact that you had to do that in the first place. No man wants to see his wife have to stoop to that level just to pass through a one-horse town. Now that I think about it, it’s the world I’m mad at – not you.”

  Bishop was silent for a bit, and then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He whispered, “I love you with all my heart. All is well between us, I swear it.”

  She smiled and rubbed his cheek and hair, and then they went back to watching the road.

  “By-the-way, your bikini trim is sexy as hell, babe. All the guys thought so.”

  She started to slow down quickly, and Bishop questioned, “What are you doing?”

  “There was a sign in the feed store’s window that said ‘PIG FEED 50% OFF.’ I was going back to get you some.”

  They drove off into the Texas night, laughing.

  Welcome to Meraton

  Meraton, Texas was a small railroad town about 100 miles north of Big Bend National Park. The census listed the population at 894 residents in 2010. The entire business district was on a single two-lane road that was the only way in or out of town.

  Meraton had experienced a small economic boom in the late ‘90s from what many of the locals called “The Art Revival.” The century’s end marked the beginning of large city artists settling in smaller western towns. Many told themselves the simpler lifestyle provided a creative work environment. The lower cost of living probably contributed to the migration as well.

  As the artists moved in, they opened shops, which in turn encouraged folks to stop, shop, eat and even spend the night. Meraton was also famous for The Manor Hotel. Back in the days when the railroad was the only way to travel between Houston and El Paso, Meraton was a logical place to stop and let passengers, railroad executives and crew spend the night. The Manor was built to provide the finest in western hospitability to those weary of travel. The facility still provided refuge even though guests now arrived via mini-vans and SUVs, rather than the great iron horses of the past.

  The Manor was considered by almost everyone that stayed there as one of the best places in the world to relax. The high, dry air, combined with hand-manicured gardens, made for a magical oasis in the barren West Texas desert. The rooms were traditional ranch house decor, but everything was real, not reproductions. Even in the year 2015, there were no TVs, phones, or internet at The Manor. There were, however, some of the most comfortable rocking chairs in the known universe sitting in front of each room overlooking the gardens, gazebo, and scenic paths through the grounds.

  After the artists came the chefs. Probably for similar reasons, many small, western towns found themselves with new restaurants opening that served some of the finest cuisine anywhere. Meraton was especially attractive to the culinary crowd because of The Manor and its guests.

  Main Street in Meraton had four nice, art galleries, three good restaurants, and The Manor Hotel. There were several side streets with smaller, humble homes.

  Of course, all of this was unknown to The Force as they pulled into town. They had been navigating through the sparsely populated region, avoiding civilization as best they could, but had no option of bypassing Meraton. There were simply no other roads.

  The thugs were surprised when people casually waved or nodded in their direction as they slowly drove down Main Street. When they stopped and asked someone about a place to stay, The Manor was the natural response.

  Spence needed more information, but didn’t want to get too close to Mexico with his vulnerable treasure. He had told The Force, “Look, we are some bad asses, no doubt. But we are only five men, and these drug cartels have death squads of 50 or more. They have the best equipment, the best training, and the best intelligence network on the planet. We are stupid if we think we can roll into their turf and either take over, or pass through without being noticed. “

  Spence decided to get close, but not too close, to the border and hole up. He would wait, learn, and then decide his next move. Meraton was looking like the perfect hideout as they were running low on fuel.

  Central Texas – September 17, 2015

  East of the Pecos

  Bishop and Terri were making a wide swing south and west around San Antonio. Their progress was good because the area was so lightly populated. They were driving almost straight west now on a two-lane state highway through very arid terrain. Small patches of cactus dotted the otherwise barren and rocky dirt. There were no homes, telephone poles, or fences at all. Every now and then he would see a water tank or windmill used for the few livestock this land would support. Bishop knew that some homes did exist, but they were usually far off of the road and out of sight.

  This area of Texas had been originally divided into a small number of ranches having thousands of acres each. Because the land was so poor, it took several acres per head to support the animals. If the early ranchers wanted a herd of any size, they needed a lot of land because there was not enough nutrition per acre to keep the herd alive.

  None of the ranches here had thrived. Raiders from Mexico, the occasional dry year, and the ultra-harsh lifestyle kept the early settlers from doing as well as they had in other parts of Texas. In the early 1920s, gasoline-powered cars and trucks allowed good, quality feed to be delivered to the cattle. Railroads would bring in grain from other parts of the country, and some small towns sprung up along the lines. The ranchers could take their Model A Ford trucks to the town and buy bags of feed. They used the rail lines to ship their four-legged products back east.

  With the non-native food source being available, there was little need for so much land. Property taxes, driving distance to deliver the feed, and other circumstances caused the big tracts of land to be divided and sold off.

  The cost of feed, fuel and the rugged environment meant that current day ranchers in the area barely kept their head above water. The typical ranch house became an old mobile home purchased second hand, hauled in, and used until it fell apart. The cycle repeated, with the new trailer parked adjacent to its predecessor.

  Despite the poverty, Bishop knew these were proud, independent people. They knew the land, and their families, in some cases, had been on it since before the ink on the Declaration of Independence dried. The loss of electric power would have little impact here and may have gone unnoticed completely. Because of this difference, Terri and he were driving more and scouting less. Bishop just didn’t think a truck going down the road at night would attract any attention from the few people in the area. He remembered his first trip through this part of Texas.

  Years ago, as a college student, Bishop wanted to see the big city of San Antonio. He had a young lady friend who owned a beat up old car, and they had decided to take a grand adventure together. The car broke down
right in the middle of nowhere. It was over 100 degrees outside, and Bishop had enough sense to just stay put. The car would provide some shade, and the thought of walking along miles of baking highway did not seem like a good idea. Someone would be along soon.

  They sat there for over three hours without a single car or truck coming along. They were thirsty, hot and hungry having started the trip with little money and even less experience. The first car that came along just kept going. Bishop had waved wildly at the elderly lady driving the old beat up truck, but she just ignored him and kept on going.

  By late that afternoon it was over 105, and Bishop’s lady friend continued to shed clothing all afternoon to stay cool. She was lying in the backseat, down to just her bra and panties when she said, “Bishop, you can take me right now if you have the strength.”

  He didn’t have the strength, and that seriously concerned him. Within an hour, he saw the second truck of the day coming down the road. This time the driver stopped. Bishop and his lady friend were given some water from a dirty old igloo in the back of the truck and a ride to the next town. They used all of their money getting the car fixed, and just headed back home with two bad headaches and the same number of plastic milk jugs full of water.

  Bishop’s analysis of the locals was right on, but did not take into consideration other westward travelers who had become stranded in the rugged environment. He had not been sticking his head out the sunroof very much the last few hours because there was really nothing to see. He was in the backseat, still looking around when he saw sparks fly across the hood of the truck. Before he could say anything, a small hole appeared in the window to his left; and something hit his arm with a hammer-like blow.

  “Go! GO! GOOOO!” he yelled at Terri, and she floored the gas pedal.

  Bishop had dropped the NVD and couldn’t see anything. He reached up to feel his arm and pulled away a sticky, wet hand. “Fuck!” he said, and Terri almost wrecked the truck trying to see what was wrong with him.

  “I’ve been hit. Keep going, and watch the road. Don’t stop.”