“Now get out there. And be careful.”
Dave never heard the footsteps, crunching on the broken glass on the sidewalk outside. He never saw the face peering into the broken window.
He was too busy looking for parts.
Finding the parts catalog wasn’t difficult. It was made easier because he didn’t have to fumble around in the night’s darkness. The catalog told him to look for part number GL-8694RM.
Simple enough.
But it didn’t tell him where to find it.
He found the aisle marked “Starters, Alternators, Generators,” but all the boxes looked alike.
He muttered, “Sheesh!”
He’d have said something else, but he wanted to keep his promise to Lindsey to clean up his act a bit.
Chapter 26
Dave found his alternator after looking only five minutes or so. He pulled it off the second shelf, took it out of the bulky box, and placed it aside. He considered himself lucky, for he knew the search could have gone on for an hour or more. And there was no guarantee they’d even have one.
So he thought he’d push his luck a bit more.
He went to an adjacent aisle. This one was marked “Batteries, Carbs, and Ignitions.”
He had a hunch that since this was probably the only parts store in town, they might serve farmers as well as city slickers.
And if that was the case, they just might have something else he could use. A spare battery.
Sure enough, on the bottom shelf halfway down the aisle, he came across a blue and white box with the words, “Battery, Farm and Implement, 12V, Dry.”
It was the last word that got his attention.
He opened up the box to find an old fashioned battery, with little caps the user could unscrew to put water in and extend the battery’s life.
It was just like the battery he used in his first car.
Back in the days before the government mandated sealed batteries and messed everything up.
Dave looked around for the acid he’d need to fill the battery and give it its initial charge.
He couldn’t find any.
He suspected it might be stored in a smaller building or shed outside because of its hazardous nature.
He went to the back door of the store, to find it was locked with a high security padlock and heavy chain.
Dave remarked to no one in particular, “Well, that’ll keep out the looters. Of course, you guys might want to patch that big frickin’ hole in front of the store.”
It was a minor setback. He’d just leave through the front door and walk around to the back of the building before he left town.
Five minutes later he had the battery and the alternator in his backpack and was headed out the door. His backpack now weighed almost forty pounds, and he wasn’t looking forward to lugging it back to his Explorer.
He didn’t know he wouldn’t have to.
Dave returned to the front of the store and turned his body sideways to step over the brick window ledge.
“Freeze, pal. Don’t you dare move a muscle.”
Every fiber in Dave’s being told him to do the exact opposite. To act instead of freezing, as he was told.
But the sound of the hammer being pulled back on a single action revolver told him he’d better do what he was told.
“Slowly, put that bag down.”
Dave put down the bag.
“Now bring that other foot out of the building and turn and face me.”
Dave slowly turned to find himself looking into the eyes of a grizzled man in his mid-seventies.
His weather-beaten face was brown and leathery. He’d have passed as Hispanic were it not for his caucasion features and dirty blond hair.
Dave couldn’t help but think he looked like John Wayne in his later years.
But he decided not to mention it. The man didn’t appear to be in any mood for small talk.
Or maybe he was.
“Whatcha got in the bag?”
“An alternator and a battery.”
“Sure you do. Open up the bag and let me see. And you damn well better move slow.”
Dave opened the backpack and tilted it so the man could see he was telling the truth.
“Now what in the hell are you gonna do with an alternator and a car battery?”
Dave’s mind was racing, and he made up the first thing that sounded plausible.
“I needed an anchor for my fishing boat. I thought I’d tie a rope to the alternator. Ain’t much good for anything else.
“The battery’s for making sparks to start my campfires.”
Dave studied the old man’s face, for signs of anger.
But he just nodded.
Apparently the old codger bought it.
Chapter 27
Dave didn’t know it yet, but his silver tongue wouldn’t be able to talk him out of this particular problem.
The man he was facing was named John Savage, and there was never a name which more suited its host. He was a brutal sort, who’d more or less named himself Blanco’s police chief because the two surviving members on the town council were too afraid to deny him the title.
And he’d ruled the town with an iron fist since.
The reason Dave hadn’t seen any others around wasn’t because they weren’t there.
It was because they were afraid to come out of their homes on the days when John Savage was in a foul mood.
And the word had gotten around that he was on a rampage.
Dave assumed that since the man looked a little like John Wayne that he might be fair and cut him some slack.
Like the Duke would, in a similar situation.
“Look, friend. I’d gladly pay for the items. But you and I both know that money’s no good any more. And there’s no one here to give it to anyway.”
“Shut up. I didn’t ask you for no damn explanation. You got five hundred dollars in gold or silver in your pocket?”
Dave was puzzled.
It seemed like such an odd question.
“No. Why?”
Savage pulled aside one side of his open jacket, and Dave was able to see for the first time a gold badge pinned to Savage’s shirt pocket.
“I’m the police chief in this damn town, that’s why. And that’s the fine you’re assessed for stealin’ from me. That’s why.”
Dave was incredulous, but still thought he could reason with the man if he kept a civil tone.
“With all due respect, Chief, I took those things from an abandoned parts store. One that went out of business a long time ago.”
The old man suddenly rushed forward, reaching the gun out at arm’s length and within inches of Dave’s face.
“That’s where you’re wrong, boy. The town council decreed that all the merchandize in the abandoned businesses belonged solely to the town’s survivors.
“Of which, I am one.”
Savage emphasized the final word, and Dave got the impression he considered himself perhaps the most important person in Blanco.
For a brief second, Dave considered his options. He, at thirty six years of age, didn’t cotton much to being called “boy” by anyone.
Not even an old coot.
And he knew he was a lot faster and stronger than the old man.
Stronger and faster enough, maybe, to brush aside the old man’s arm before he was able to fire a shot.
But as quickly as he considered the option, he more quickly dismissed it. For one, if the old man did get a shot off, even if it went harmlessly into the nearby building, it would still attract attention that Dave didn’t want or need.
Some of the town’s residents might come rushing to the old man’s aid. And he might be faced with many more angry men.
Pointing many more guns at him.
Also, it would go above everything Dave had always stood for.
Dave had always been a law abiding citizen. Had always respected policemen. Had always defended them, when others might complain they were too unfair,
too brutal, too corrupt.
“They have a tough job to do,” Dave would tell them. “Until you’re brave enough to do it yourself, leave them alone. And when you go to sleep each night and say your prayers, thank God you have them around to protect you.”
But, then again, Dave had never known John Savage. If he had, he might have felt differently.
So Dave discarded the notion of trying to overpower the old man. Instead, he chose a different option, placing both hands up in a show of surrender and apologizing.
Perhaps the old guy would be more apt to reason with him if he knew he was the alpha male, and totally in control of the situation.
Dave knew that with some men, control was the ultimate high. And he didn’t mind taking a subservient role to the man with the gun if it helped him get out of the predicament he was in.
Besides, if he went peacefully, there was a good chance he’d meet a judge or a magistrate who would be a bit more open minded.
“Move it,” the old man commanded.
He gestured with his non-gun hand, pointing up the street toward the center of town.
Dave followed instructions, and walked down a sidewalk overgrown with weeds.
After a few hundred yards, he drew a breath of relief as he finally saw other people. He’d been starting to wonder if the madman holding the gun was the only living resident in what would otherwise be a ghost town.
As it turned out, the relief he felt was unfounded.
“Well, well, whatcha got there, Chief?”
The words came from a tall rail of a man, wearing a University of Texas baseball cap. The cap was as worn and dirty as he was.
“Got me a thief,” Savage replied with some disgust.
The voices in the street drew some attention from some of Blanco’s other residents. A curtain fluttered here and there.
In a small apartment over the town’s hardware store, a window opened.
Another old man, a squat accountant-type, asked, “What’d he steal?”
Savage commanded of Dave, “Show him boy. Show him what you stole.”
Dave slowly placed the backpack on the sidewalk and zipped it open. He took out the alternator and folded the flap over the top of the battery so the others could see it.
The fat man cackled.
“What is that, a generator and a battery? What in the hell are you gonna use those for?”
Dave wanted to say, “It’s an alternator, you fat son of a bitch.”
But he remembered his promise to Lindsey. And he knew instinctively that these men were the same ilk as the police chief. So he held his tongue, deciding not to inflame the situation.
Savage nudged him in the ribs, with a revolver that was still cocked. Dave somehow knew that Savage’s finger was on the trigger, and hoped it wasn’t too sensitive.
“Answer the man, boy!” Savage growled.
Dave wasn’t about to tell these men he had a working vehicle. So instead he repeated the same lies he’d told to Savage a few minutes before.
“I need an anchor for my fishing boat. I figured I’d tie a rope around the alternator and use it, since it ain’t much good for nuthin’ else.”
He was hoping that maybe, by his talking like a hillbilly, it might curry favor with this crowd. They might consider him one of their own.
He went on.
“I was gonna use this here battery to make sparks, to start my campfire so I could cook my fish. Y’all are welcome to come join me if you like.”
The thin man walked menacingly up to him.
Dave’s efforts to curry favor had clearly failed.
“We don’t cotton to no stealers around here, Mister. Even if they steal stuff that ain’t worth a diddly damn to nobody else.”
He reached behind him and drew a Glock handgun from a holster behind his back.
A handgun Dave previously hadn’t known existed.
A bead of sweat broke on Dave’s forehead. For the first time he realized this was a situation he might not survive.
At that same moment another man walked out of a storefront.
A hulk of a man, he reminded Dave of a linebacker. Younger than Dave, and built of solid rock, he appeared to be two hundred and eighty pound of pure muscle.
So much for meeting a reasonable judge or magistrate.
“So, Chief, Whatcha gonna do with him?”
Savage made a big show of chewing on the question before answering it. He took a lot of pleasure in knowing that all eyes were on him, as everyone awaited the man’s fate.
And he enjoyed even more that Dave’s life or death was his choice, and his alone.
“Well, I fined him five hundred dollars, gold or silver, but the sumbitch ain’t got it. So I reckon we’ll just have to show him what we do with thieves who can’t pay their due.”
Dave had only a moment to wonder what Savage meant.
At least with a clear head.
For as soon as Savage finished uttering the words, Dave felt a blinding blow to the back of his skull.
The thin man with the Glock had hit him hard with the weapon, just behind the right ear.
Dave’s legs went weak, then wobbled, then gave out.
He went down to his knees and fought hard to stop the blackness from overtaking him.
Then he was kicked hard, right in the teeth.
Chapter 28
The kicks were coming fast and furious. So were the blows with the aluminum softball bat the fat man was swinging.
He seemed to take great delight when he’d land a solid blow against one of Dave’s knees or hips. He found that the bat gave off a sharp “ping” when connecting with something of substance, not unlike the sound it once made when connecting with a softball.
Dave had lost his share of bar room fights in his youth. And he’d been shot at in Iraq, and even been within a hundred yards of an IED when it exploded.
But he had never taken this severe of a beating.
And never before had he been so certain he was going to die.
The worst part of it was, he was helpless. He couldn’t fight back. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, seeing only a strange mixture of inky blackness and bright white stars in front of his eyes.
If he couldn’t see his attackers, he had no chance of landing a blow of his own.
And his arms and legs weren’t working anyway. They were little more than limp noodles, worthless to him.
Well, almost worthless.
The one thing he was able to do was to curl up in a ball, using his limbs to try to shield his head and midsection. He somehow seemed to sense that the blows would do much more harm against his skull and internal organs.
At the same time, though, another side of him wasn’t worried much about the organs. That side of him was praying that since he was going to die, he would go quickly.
That side of him wanted to get this over with.
The back of Dave’s head was bleeding profusely, as all head wounds are wont to do.
But that wasn’t the only place he was losing blood. He’d been dragged into the middle of Main Street by the linebacker, so that those townsfolk who were watching from behind their curtains could get a good show.
The dragging opened up a second bleeder on Dave’s forehead, and road rash all over his arms and legs.
One blow after another he endured, wincing or grunting each time. The bat came down hard on the forearms covering his head. He thought he felt one of the bones in his left arm snap, as though it were a twig.
Oddly enough, though, the snap wasn’t associated with any significant pain.
His arm, by that time, had already lost any semblance of feeling.
He didn’t know who was wielding the bat now, unaware whether they were passing it around to let everyone share in the fun.
All he knew was that whoever was repeatedly beating his arms, trying to make them fall away to gain access to his skull, was trying to kill him.
He thought of Sarah.
And the gi
rls.
He’d let them down.
Chapter 29
Dave had given up.
He knew he was going to die, on a dismal street in the middle of someplace called Blanco, Texas.
He just didn’t know how much longer he’d have to endure the beating before his world went mercifully black.
He hadn’t noticed the window above the hardware store being slammed shut.
Hadn’t noticed that the shadowy figure behind the window came scurrying down the stairs and onto the street.
Hadn’t noticed that the figure raised a Remington Model 7615 Ranch Rifle in Dave’s direction and fired off a round.
In fact, he never even heard the shot. It had come at the exact moment he endured a vicious kick in his left ear with Linebacker’s boot.
But the others heard it, and all activity came to a sudden halt.
The boot to his left ear was the last blow Dave would have to endure.
The shot wasn’t intended for Dave.
Rather, the bullet found its target in the pavement mere inches from Linebacker’s other foot.
All heads immediately turned toward the figure, who still had the rifle raised and was ready to take another shot.
Savage was the first to finally find his tongue.
“Now, you stay out of this, Red! This don’t concern you.”
Red raised the weapon and turned it to the right. It was now aimed directly at Savage’s ample and wrinkled forehead.
Savage winced.
Dave, still wavering between blackness and daylight, was grateful for the respite but had no clue what had caused it. He thought he vaguely heard someone say the word “red,” but was probably mistaken.
Red didn’t agree with Savage’s assessment.
“Any time I see a murder being committed, it damn sure does concern me. And I’m damn sure gonna stop it.”
The fat man spoke.
“The Chief’s right, Red. This ain’t none of your concern. Go back to your window and watch, like everybody else who’s smart enough to mind their own business.”
Red was unfazed.
“All of you. Take off your weapons and throw them away from you. I’m not gonna ask a second time. If I have to ask a second time, my Remington’s gonna do it for me.”
Alone, Book 3: The Journey Page 9