by Joe Nobody
He waited until Nick was helping Mr. Chancy out of the window. As his three teammates began running for the fence, he switched his focus back to the church. Centering the crosshairs six inches in front of the lead horse’s hoof, Bishop flicked off the safety and whispered, “Send it.”
The rifle’s report, combined with the impacting round, startled the horse and Bishop. The animal surged backwards, the wagon’s driver barely maintaining control of the panicked beast. Before anyone could react, Bishop started pulling the trigger, sending round after round into the ground surrounding the line of cops. The reaction was bedlam.
Bodies were flying everywhere in a desperate attempt to seek cover. The wagon’s master gave up trying controlling the team, instead choosing to dive for cover behind a wheel. Shouts and screams sounded from the gathered throng, and men shoved women to the ground while others ran for the cover of the church.
Bishop used all 20 shots in the rifle’s magazine, ejected the empty and slammed home a full box of pills. After shoving the spent mag into his dump pouch, Bishop began crawling backwards under the cover. Swinging his legs over the edge of the trailer and then hanging by his hands for a moment, Bishop dropped to the ground and began running away to the south.
Distance was life now. Bishop had picked his next spot, a small adobe home surrounding by a waist-high rock wall. Covering the ground at a full sprint, Bishop hurdled the wall and then cut hard right, intent on using the structure as cover.
Peeking over the top, he could see heads and arms waving back at the church. It appeared as though his targets were still a little confused and disorganized, but Bishop knew it wouldn’t last. As he watched through the optic, one woman appeared to be rallying the men, her arms pointing in Bishop’s general direction. It was less than a minute before a small gaggle of the lawmen formed behind the wagon and then began to charge across the road in Bishop’s direction.
Again aiming low, Bishop flipped off the safety and sent five more rounds screaming through the air. The effect was as anticipated, the formation of men scattering for cover, no longer interested in pursuit.
Bishop was just about to rise from his cover when chips of stone and masonry stung the side of his face, quickly followed by the report of a distant rifle. One of the lawmen had found Bishop’s position and sent a well-aimed round his direction.
Bishop ducked behind the wall and rolled twice to the right. He backed away from the barrier about the same distance and length of his barrel, the maneuver allowing him to rise above the partition with his weapon already in position. He had a pretty good idea where the shooter was, and intended on discouraging the man from hindering any further retreat.
Taking a deep breath, Bishop rose from behind the wall and centered his sights on the only tree in the church’s grounds. He saw the man try to move his barrel toward Bishop’s new position, but the guy was too slow.
Bishop’s round slammed into the old pine right next to the fellow’s head, spraying bark and resin into the shooter’s eyes while knocking the rifle loose in his grip. Convinced he had bought some time, Bishop began zigzagging across the yard and heading south.
The pattern was repeated twice. Bishop would gain a little distance and then hole-up and send a few rounds back to scatter his pursuers. Despite the inaccuracy of his fire, the men chasing him didn’t seem all that eager to close ranks. On the second cycle, he actually had to wait a minute before his targets came into sight.
They’re not very good, he thought. I would have split my group up and tried to flank me before now.
The fourth time Bishop stopped for a breather, the flanking maneuver was executed, but not by the original funeral goers. Bishop saw two men with rifles strapped across their backs riding bicycles down a parallel street, obviously attempting to get in front and hem him in.
Bishop changed direction, heading directly toward the two cyclists. When he reached the corner of the street they were using, he hurried to follow behind them, having to pace himself to keep them in sight. A few blocks ahead, the two men jumped off their two wheel rides and moved to a position designed to intercept Bishop if he was still on his original path. He wasn’t.
Sneaking up from behind the two, Bishop paused and then fired a quick shot at each, intentionally missing high. After their recovery, Bishop waited to make sure they saw him, and then he cut right down a small side alley. Pulling off a bundle of Paracord, Bishop strung a length across the narrow passage, securing one end to a gas meter and wrapping the other once around a drainage pipe. Bishop ducked behind two garbage cans and waited.
The sounds of the peddling and panting preceded the two men, and they flew around the corner and entered the alley. Bishop pulled the Paracord tight and braced for impact.
The first cyclist actually avoided being clotheslined. Slamming on the brakes while pulling the bike into a sideways skid didn’t really help the rider. Bishop winced as he visualized the guy’s skin peeling away when his grinding slide continued along the gravel surface. The second man caught the cord chest high and was immediately unseated. In slow motion, the cyclist landed on his backside, bounced once, and then bled off momentum with several tumbles. The two riders actually ended up almost on top of each other in a tangled mass of bruised and bleeding flesh.
Bishop stepped from behind the garbage cans and quickly shoved his rifle into the face of the closest man while putting his boot on the barrel of the other’s weapon. The guy’s eyes grew wide at what must have been an unusual sight. Bishop was dressed in a full combat load, baklava mask, shooting goggles and bush hat. The .308 AR10 was a large weapon, the 24-x scope extending almost the entire length of the barrel. Bishop was sure the muzzle, just a few inches from the gentleman’s nose, must have appeared from his vantage to have been the size of a small cave.
“Be stupid and die. Be smart and live. It’s really that simple,” Bishop growled.
The guy nodded, his eyes never leaving the barrel of Bishop’s weapon.
“You head on back and tell your friends that I’ve been shooting high and low on purpose, but I’m tiring of the game. I’m heading out of town and won’t come back. If they keep coming, people are going to die.”
Again, the guy nodded.
Bishop pushed the muzzle a bit closer and sighed, his voice going cold. “Forget that. I’m thinking you assholes are too stupid to understand the message.”
Bishop flicked off his safety and moved his finger to the trigger. The man beneath him closed his eyes in anticipation of dying. By the time he opened them, Bishop was gone.
Evidently, the message was delivered because the chase ended. Careful he wasn’t being followed, Bishop eventually found Nick and the others parked about five miles south of Fort Stockdale. The team happily headed for home, not sure they had accomplished anything other than scaring a horse and rattling a few lawmen.
Pete was talking with two customers at the bar, both men complaining about how bad the homemade bathtub gin tasted before ordering a refill. A humming noise caused all three gents to stare at the ceiling and then the walls. “What the heck is that?”
A few moments later, the forgotten jukebox in the corner began blaring out a melody. Smiling, Pete reached for a nearby wall receptacle and plugged in the neon sign mounted on the wall behind the cash register. They all watched in fascination as the name of a popular beer blinked once, twice, and then showed brilliant red, white, and blue neon.
All three of them stood in awe, staring at the light for several moments. Pete finally broke the silence, “Isn’t that the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?” Both customers nodded, completely unable to move, mesmerized by the glowing sign. “The next one’s on the house, boys.”
Betty was carrying water into The Manor’s kitchen, the bucket’s wire handles burning into her hand. An odd shadow of flickering light caught her eye, and she panicked a bit, at first thinking something was on fire. Tiptoeing slowly into the main lobby, she glanced up at the humming fluorescent lights hangin
g from the ceiling. “We’ll, I’ll be,” she mumbled. Immediately she hurried to the poolroom and tested the wall switch. The stained glass light, hanging over the table, illuminated immediately, showering the green felt surface with a brilliant glow. The hotel’s manager stood fixated at the miracle, her mind racing with how easy life was going to be with running water, washing machines and electric ovens.
The women working the infirmary in Alpha were cleaning up after splinting a nasty compound fracture suffered by a member of the cleanup crew. The bloody wound had taken all of their skill to repair. The numerous candles spread around the basement room generated heat and smoke, transforming the makeshift clinic into a hot and sweaty place to work.
As they were mopping up the blood and cleaning the area, one of the good Samaritans thought she felt a breeze. The sensation passed as she gathered the red-soaked bandages used in the procedure. Stepping toward the door, she felt cool air again and stopped, trying to determine the source. Looking up, she noticed the air-conditioning vent above her head and raised a hand to feel. “Praise God,” she whispered. Turning to her co-workers, her excited voice rang out, “Ladies! Ladies! Look!” Rushing to the nearby wall switch, she paused, and said, “Let there be light,” and flipped the switches.
All over Alpha, people stopped what they were doing and stared at various sources of electrical wonderment. Flashing neon in the long unused café declared the establishment was open. Despite being looted to the bare shelves, the sign at the corner gas station began revolving high on its pole, while flashing numerals atop a nearby pile of rubble declared that the Texas lottery was at 12 million dollars. Music drifted down one street, a home stereo having been left on when the grid went down. Six months ago, the loud rock n’ roll might have drawn a neighbor’s complaint, but today, it made everyone smile.
The team returning from Fort Stockdale saw the first hint of their success as they approached the outskirts of Alpha. Cresting a small rise on the highway, Bishop’s initial reaction was to slow the truck down. The town was aglow, and no one believed the setting sun to the west was the source.
Diana commented first. “Is Alpha on fire?”
“It’s not the right color,” answered Nick.
“I think we’re seeing streetlights. Oh, my gosh! Our little scheme worked!”
As the team progressed closer to town, it was confirmed their mission had succeeded. Windows glowed from electric beams, the bright white illumination completely different from the candlelight everyone had become accustomed to. “I’m gonna miss candlelight,” Diana confessed. “It took 10 years off my profile!” The group chuckled at the idea of such a striking woman needing the advantage of soft lighting.
Pulling into the church, the team was met with a hero’s welcome, big smiles and happy faces all about. Terri embraced Bishop, a look of wonderment on her face. “This is so fantastic!” she declared. “It’s like Disneyworld all over again!”
Kevin approached Nick and Mr. Chancy, his hands filled with two cups. “Let me be the first to offer you a cold drink of water.” Nick was pretty sure it was the first chilled thing to hit his pallet in six months.
The rest of the night was occupied by people strolling the streets and admiring the lights. The display wasn’t anything special or noteworthy. Before the world had gone to hell, no one would have even noticed the common streetlamps, business signs, or household illuminations.
To the people of Alpha, it was a spectacle worthy of awe. Bishop and Terri walked hand-in-hand with the small groups of citizens, sauntering through the cool night air, gawking and pointing like everyone else.
Terri gazed up at Bishop and said, “I’m getting tired, would you like to turn in?”
“And miss all the excitement? Are you sure, Terri?”
Terri winked at her husband, “I figure since everyone is out looking at the show, we might find some alone time and won’t be missed. The lights are progress, Bishop. They make me happy and hopeful, and I thought we might celebrate in private.”
Bishop smiled and looked around to make sure no one was watching.
Moving so quickly Terri didn’t even have time to flinch, Bishop scooped her up in his arms and held his wife like a baby. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
It was several hours later when the lights began to dim, the event causing people to question what was going on. Mr. Chancy explained the cause, the cooling of the atmosphere no longer generating enough wind to spin the giant turbines to the south. Word spread quickly and while disappointed by the fading lights, most of Alpha’s residents retired that evening with an improved optimism. Bishop and Terri never noticed.
Chapter 11
The time has come for all young men
To bow their heads and say amen.
The time has come to take a stand;
To voice beliefs across the land.
The time has come to raise up arms;
To make aware and set off alarms.
The time has come to make repairs;
To fix what’s wrong when no one dares.
The time has come to set things straight;
To change our ways ‘fore it’s too late.
The time has come to hold our ground;
To circumvent without a sound.
The time is now.
DALH November, 2012
Alpha, Texas
December 27, 2015
Early the next morning, Bishop and Terri set about saying their goodbyes and best wishes. Reestablishing electrical power hadn’t been a completely positive experience for the town as reports of two abandoned homes burning to the ground had filtered in.
Nick was busy organizing a team to go house to house and turn off breakers where there were abandoned homesteads. They were also going to warn property owners that electrical appliances left unused for months posed a fire hazard.
There were a hundred new tasks to be assigned and managed, but the entire population showed a vigorous attitude, anxious to get on with rebuilding their little corner of the world.
As Bishop negotiated the ever more crowded streets on the way out of town, he noticed Terri was as happy as any of Alpha’s residents.
“Why are you all shits and giggles this morning, young lady?”
Terri reached across and brushed his hair. “Because of last night. Last night was extra special.”
Bishop grinned, his chest slightly expanding. “I was on my game, wasn’t I?”
Terri playfully swatted her husband. “No, that’s not what I meant, and you know it. I meant the huge step forward we took as a society last night.”
Bishop played hurt, his bottom lip slightly protruding in a pout.
Terri spotted the reaction and smiled, touching Bishop’s cheek. “You’re always on your game, my love. I’m a very lucky girl.”
As they drove, Bishop couldn’t remember a time when such optimism dominated Terri’s conversation. “This is a pivotal moment,” she declared. “This is everyone’s big chance. I just hope we do the right thing this time.”
“What do you mean?”
Terri rubbed her chin. “I can’t help but feel like this is our second chance. I just hope we’re good enough not to mess it up this go around.”
Alpha, Texas
December 31, 2015
Nick was laughing at how sleepy Kevin was. Reminiscing about his own teenage years, the big ex-Green Beret still couldn’t resist teasing his son about the need to sleep in until noon. “Kevin, wake up son. You’re missing the best part of the day. The sun will be up in an hour; snap out of it, boy.”
The younger man’s response was a half-hearted attempt to stifle a yawn. It only gave his father more ammunition. “All week long, all I’ve heard was your begging me to take you deer hunting up in the mountains. ‘I’m bored, Dad. There’s nothing to do, Dad. Please, Dad, please.’”
Kevin decided to push back, “I didn’t know deer hunters had to be in the woods before dawn. Nobody gets up this early to hunt. I don’t even t
hink the deer are awake yet. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Nick laughed, draping his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Yes, son, I know what I’m doing. I took my first buck when I was 17. Your grandpa rousted me out of bed extra early, and I managed to bag a 12- pointer. I’ll never forget that glorious morning, that day, or that shot.”
The duo continued down the main drag of Alpha, Texas, strolling toward the courthouse where the electric golf carts were charging. As they passed the spot where the president had been killed, Nick wondered if the town shouldn’t construct some sort of monument. He quickly dismissed the thought—there were simply higher priorities right now.
After the collapse, Alpha had initially been overtaken by the prisoners from the city and county jails. No one really knew how they had deposed what little was left of the local government. Only the barricaded compound of a local church escaped their harsh rule, and that had started what amounted to a range war.
Nick and Kevin helped defeat the criminals and reestablish legitimate rule. Now the town was recovering, making its way down the bumpy road on its journey to normalcy—at least as normal as things could be without any sort of state or federal government. The restoration of electricity had really made a difference. Things had been going well enough for Nick to take a break from rebuilding. It was a good time to take Kevin hunting in the nearby mountains, famous for their trophy white-tail deer population.
They had asked permission to borrow a golf cart, the preferred method of cross-town transportation. Generators were no longer needed to recharge the fleet of electric powered cars every night. Now they were plugged in to the charging equipment salvaged from the local golf course, making them ready to conduct the town’s business the following day. Gasoline was always in short supply, and the electric transportation had been a godsend.