by Joe Nobody
When they reached the area where Bishop had been shot, he paused and bent to pick up a spent cartridge. Examining the brass, he announced, “This is a 5.56 NATO round, the same caliber issued to the military. I can’t be for sure, but I don’t think this is a military round.”
“How can you tell?”
“Most military ammunition is made in only a few different plants. Each manufacturing facility places its own unique stamp on the base of each round. Lake City, Radford . . . they all have a distinctive mark. This case is different. The other thing odd about it is that military grade ammo uses a box primer. This is more like a civilian primer. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“So you don’t think they were military?”
“It’s hard to tell. I’ve heard stories about the different Special Forces units making their own rounds. I’ve also heard of their evaluating small lots of ammo, so these might be test rounds. Two of their weapons were not military issue.”
Bishop moved from one disturbed area to another, checking the ground and picking up spent brass. As Terri watched, Bishop leaned against a rock, apparently dizzy. “You okay, Bishop?”
“Yeah, I’m cool. My head is thumping like a brass band is all. Let’s keep moving.”
The couple resumed following the trail, slowly picking their way through the boulder field, heading toward the edge of the canyon.
Something didn’t feel right about the desert. Bishop couldn’t quite put his finger on it . . . was it a sound . . . a vibration?
Out of nowhere, three ATVs zoomed across the open terrain in front of the couple, each machine carrying one of the attackers. Bishop raised his rifle to fire, but the speeding vehicles never provided a clear shot. One of the men slowed his ride and looked over his shoulder directly at the astounded couple. The man flipped Bishop a middle finger, and then gassed his unit, heading into the desert.
Bishop glanced at Terri, “Gee, I hope that bumpy ride doesn’t hurt the guy with the wounded leg.”
Terri chuckled at Bishop’s remark. “Those things scared the beejeebers out of me, Bishop.”
Since there was no need to track down the intruders, the couple casually headed back to the Bat Cave. After unloading their gear, Terri wanted to look at Bishop’s wound again.
“We need to go to Meraton, Bishop. This needs stitches and probably a stronger antibiotic than what we have here. Let’s go to town and let the doc look you over.”
“You just want to go shopping.”
Terri rolled her eyes at Bishop’s logic. She went to the stack of stainless steel lockboxes and lifted one, testing its weight. Hefting it to eye level, she held it so her husband could see his reflection.
Bishop winched, wondering if the slight distortion in the metal made things worse. He looked like hell warmed over. Small abrasions covered his face, each about the size and shape of a fingernail clipping, many of them surrounded by the discoloration of a newly forming bruise. Rock chips, he thought. One shouldn’t partake in gunfights around solid rock.
Terri adjusted her stance and Bishop’s view. The new image made Bishop inhale sharply. There was a two-inch gash cutting through his scalp, starting just above his forehead and ending at his ear. With the chunks of dried blood and mangled flesh, it was difficult to tell how much of his ear was left. Terri was right, the wound needed sewing up. It was bleeding again already.
“Okay, you win. We’ll go shopping.”
Terri just tilted her head and smiled at Bishop’s stubbornness. “I know you’ll want to take some stuff to the market, so don’t blame everything on me. Can you get ready while I go to the camper and pack up some things in there?”
“Yeah, it will take me a few minutes to gather everything. Can you get me a change of clothes while you’re packing?”
“No problem.” She paused before going to the camper. With a twinkle in her eye, Terri added, “You won’t mind if I take along a few extra things, will you?”
Bishop had his back turned and didn’t read her expression. “What kind of things?”
Terri replied, “Oh, nothing major, just some odds and ends I’ve had earmarked to trade.”
Before he could turn, Terri was scampering out of the Bat Cave, giggling like a schoolgirl all the way to the camper.
West Virginia
January 1, 2016
The leadership committee of the Independents projected an assortment of facial expressions ranging from patient to apathetic. Moreland stood from his seat at the head of the conference table and concluded his presentation. “Ladies and gentlemen, in summary, this is why I’ve called this emergency meeting. We have a decision to make. It’s quite simple really. Should I accept the presidency or continue to lead our movement? I want to hear your thoughts.”
The first person to Moreland’s right was a retired four-star general, former chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Clearing his throat, the military man began to voice his position. “Sir, my belief is that you should become the president and immediately defuse the situation in Louisiana. While I fully understand that you will have to compromise the Independents’ core beliefs in order to effectively rule, the country needs leadership right now, not political positioning.”
Moreland nodded, “Thank you, General.”
The next was a retired Supreme Court justice. “Senator, I’m afraid I have to take the opposite position. I don’t believe you will be given the chance to govern. As soon as the establishment realizes you were the leader of our movement, they will fight you every step of the way. You may be effective while martial law is in effect, but after that you will be stonewalled time and time again.”
Moreland rubbed his chin, “Do you believe this would be due to my being the leader of the Independents, or because of the assassination of the president?”
The retired justice responded, “The attempt on the former president’s life would be a difficult hurdle to overcome. Political spin, proper management of the press, and good public relations could smooth over the actions of the Independents up until that point. Ordering the death of any world leader, ours or anyone else’s, is unforgivable.”
Moreland scanned the room, noting the heads nodding in agreement. “But you all know I didn’t order any such attempt on the president. I want to believe the truth will eventually win out.”
The wise man from the Supreme Court smiled at Moreland. “Just a few years ago some newly uncovered facts came to light about the assassination of President Lincoln. Consider. . . a modern day controversy erupted due to a book that claimed new information about a slaying that occurred 150 years ago. Over 40 years after the assassination of President Kennedy, a vast majority of Americans believe they still don’t know the whole story. There is less information available about what happened at Fort Bliss a few days ago than either of those events. What makes you believe a simple claim by this council would have any political impact? Why should this situation be any different than previous assassinations?”
Moreland sighed, “You have a point, sir. Perhaps I’m being too naïve.”
“Senator, I’ve spent over 50 years deciding legal cases. Over 2,000 times I’ve sat while the two sides presented their evidence, and then I’ve made a judgment based on what was presented. In this case . . . the case of who ordered the attempt on the Commander in Chief’s life, I would have to find the Independents guilty based on what I’ve heard so far. I have a feeling the American people will come to the same conclusion.”
Again, several of the council members agreed.
Moreland returned to his chair. “If our innocence can be proven, if an investigation uncovers additional facts that point to another culprit, would this sway the council’s opinion?”
Several side conversations broke out, mumbling and whispering around the group. Moreland let it go, remaining quiet at the head of the table.
The justice spoke again, “Senator, I believe it would. If we could remove the stigma of ordering that attempt on the president’s life, then any ot
her objection to your presidency could be overcome.”
Another hour of discussions flowed around the table. It took a few heated debates and creative solutions, but a consensus was finally reached. If the Independents could clear the movement’s name of any assassination attempt, then Moreland should accept the presidency.
After a few rounds of handshakes, the meeting adjourned, and Moreland headed directly for his study for a sniffer of brandy. Wayne joined him after making sure the council members were all safely on their way.
Moreland’s aide started the conversation. “Announcing that most of the council members would have cabinet positions in your administration was a stroke of brilliance, sir. You would have a ready-made executive branch that was politically aligned to our movement. Very wise.”
Moreland nodded, “Thank you, Wayne. I hope this entire exercise isn’t for naught. Tell me more about this woman who was with the president before his death.”
“We know very little about her, sir. As of the latest information available to me, no one is even sure of her whereabouts.”
Moreland’s face twisted into a frown. “As I understand it, she told General Westfield and a Secret Service agent her story, correct?”
“Yes, sir. That is what I understand as well.”
Setting the brandy down on his desk, Moreland rose and looked Wayne square in the eye. “We have the opportunity to make a difference here. We can change the destiny of the entire country. I want you to verify what that witness heard. I want General Westfield to find this woman.”
Wayne nodded his understanding.
Moreland continued, “Let our friends from Washington know I’ve decided to accept the presidency. I want the four senior senators from the other party to arrange transportation to Fort Bliss. We will fly there ourselves in a few days. If we find the woman, she can testify and clear our name. If we don’t, then we’ll have to pray that General Westfield’s recounting will be good enough for the opposition.”
Wayne shook his head. “Sir, I don’t think this is a wise course of action. It’s not in the spirit of what the council agreed on.”
Moreland waved off Wayne’s protest, his voice firm. “This country can’t wait any longer, Wayne. We’ve got to move - and move right now. Perhaps I’m crossing the line with this gamble, but I feel strongly that it’s necessary. What do we lose if those senators don’t buy Westfield’s story? Then the Independents will continue, and we will have civil war. I will sleep better at night knowing we tried.”
Wayne’s expression showed he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t protest any further. “Yes, sir . . . I’ll get things moving in the direction of Fort Bliss and let the base commander know to expect a lot of visitors.”
Meraton, Texas
January 1, 2016
The trip to Meraton was uneventful, the couple arriving as the market was in full swing. Circumventing Main Street and its myriad of stalls, tables, shoppers, and vendors, Bishop maneuvered the pickup through the side streets and parked behind The Manor.
Betty was nowhere to be found, but that wasn’t unusual this time of day. Terri suggested they use the back street and visit Pete while they waited to be checked into a room.
“Are you ashamed to be seen in the market with me?” Bishop teased.
“Well, honey, you are covered in blood, sweet, and grime. You look like death warmed over. I think it would be ear-responsible to risk frightening small children in the market.”
Bishop grunted, “Ear we go again.”
Pete’s Place was only a block away. The couple arrived to find the local watering hole’s door locked and posted with a sign, “Be Back in 30 minutes.”
Bishop read the sign and furrowed his brow, “Terri, you don’t think Pete and Betty are . . . well . . . you know . . . an item?”
Terri smiled at her husband’s phrasing, “Could be, Bishop. They’re both consenting adults. Maybe they are off enjoying a little midday romance. More power to ’em.”
“Midday romance? You mean a nooner?”
“Bishop! Not everyone’s a perv like you. They might simply be enjoying a walk in the park.”
Bishop had to laugh, the effort causing his scalp discomfort. The pain was quickly followed by a warm liquid feeling running down his neck. Terri saw it too. “Bishop, let’s go find the doctor—you’re bleeding through the bandages.”
Backtracking to The Manor, the couple entered the famous gardens of the remote retreat. Betty, through methods unknown, somehow managed to keep the renowned landscaping perfect. This was no small feat, given the general lack of civilization and its associated fertilizers and pesticides.
The pool was also pristine, but that wasn’t such a mystery. The pumps and filters were solar powered, and the hotel had a significant supply of chemicals on hand when the world had gone to hell. As they walked by, Bishop had to wonder how long those pre-collapse supplies would last.
The town now used one wing of the hotel’s rooms as a makeshift hospital. It seemed logical to Terri that they would find the doctor here. No such luck. All of the doors were closed, the garden absolutely quiet with the exception of the singing birds enjoying the variety of plant life.
“There’s nobody around, Bishop. Let’s go back to the truck, and I’ll change the bandage myself.”
“Do you promise not to crack anymore ear jokes if I agree to submit?”
“No.”
Bishop did his best to act hurt; the faked pout on his face only served to make Terri laugh. “Poor, poor, Bishop. He has a booboo, and it’s ouchie. Come on young man, I’ll put a Band-Aid on your skinned knee.”
“Terri, you can try to mother me all you want, but it’s going to take more than a lollipop to reward me for good behavior.”
Bishop made a half-hearted attempt to grab Terri’s backside, but she was too nimble and escaped, scampering a few steps ahead of him and staying out of reach as they made their way to the parking lot. At the back of the pickup, she suddenly turned and tried her best to be serious. Poking her finger in Bishop’s chest, she commanded, “Now you behave yourself, young man. If you make me jump while I’m dressing your wound, I might slip and cause you additional pain or injury.”
“Okay.”
Bishop removed his hat and sat on the tailgate while Terri worked on his wound. She was about halfway through the procedure when Betty’s voice sounded from the gate.
“What’s going on out here? Terri, is that you?”
Terri leaned around the cab and waved at Betty. “Hey there. Have you seen the doctor?”
Betty didn’t answer the question directly. “What’s the matter, Terri? Is something wrong with the baby?”
“Oh, no . . . well . . . not this baby,” replied Terri, while rubbing her tummy. “It’s my larger baby that needs medical attention.”
It took Betty a second to figure out whom Terri was talking about, the realization causing concern. “Bishop?”
Rather than trying to explain, Terri waved her friend over to see for herself. Betty rounded the pickup’s bed and saw Bishop sitting there, her view restricted to the uninjured side of his head. “Terri, thank God the baby’s okay. You had me worried there for a second.”
Again, Bishop faked hurt feelings. “I’m not hurt too badly, Betty. Thank you for the concern.”
The remark drew a stern look from the hotel’s manager. “You look fine to me, Bishop. What’s wrong with. . . .” Bishop turned his head slightly so she could see the damage.
“Ouch! Let me take a look at that.”
Bishop turned his head so Betty could see the full extent of his cranial damage, half-expecting sympathy.
Betty responded to the carnage. “So, Bishop, you finally drove poor Terri over the edge, and she took a shot at ya, didn’t she?”
Terri struggled to keep a straight face, finally snorting loudly as she tried to turn away. Betty wasn’t done yet. “I see that super thick skull saved you again. Good thing she didn’t borrow my 12-gauge, or you’d be done
for. As it is, you need to see the doctor.”
“We’ve been looking for the doc,” Bishop commented.
“He’s taking care of that kid that got shot this morning from Alpha.” Betty hesitated, trying to recall the name. “You know the one. His father is a friend of yours—the big guy and his son that showed up at Pete’s last week.”
Bishop hopped off the pickup’s tailgate, “Kevin! Someone shot Kevin?”
Terri was in shock as well. “Oh my God, Betty. Is he going to be okay?”
“He was hit in the chest is all I know. They sped into town just after first light this morning, horn blaring, and raising a fuss. Pete and I helped them get the boy into a room where the doc’s been working on him ever since.”
“Betty, we walked by there, and everything looked closed up and quiet. I don’t understand.”
“Doc felt like he needed more light to treat the patient. We moved them to one of the rooms in the main building, it has a lot bigger windows and not as much shade. The boy’s father and that woman from the church in Alpha are both in there; Pete just took them some food.”
Betty read the horrified look on both faces. “Come ’on, I’ll take you over there. The doctor is going to do surgery soon, but I don’t think he’s started yet.”
Terri finished wrapping Bishop’s head, and then everyone rushed back into the gardens. A short time later, they entered The Manor’s main building, and Betty knocked gently on the doorframe.
Diana answered, her eyes showing surprise at seeing Terri. While the girls were hugging, Diana acknowledged Bishop standing nearby. “Well hello, stranger. I’ve not seen you in a long time.”
“Hello there, Ms. Brown. It’s good to see you too. What’s it been, two days? How’s Kevin?”
Nick, curious about the commotion outside, stuck his head out into the hall. When he saw Bishop and Terri, he stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. Terri embraced him while gushing, “Oh, Nick. I’m so sorry. How is Kevin? How are you?”