by Bobby Akart
Under the bench seat of one of the trucks, Palmer found a basic first aid kit, which also contained face masks, additional gauze pads, and a tourniquet.
As it turned dark, they all gathered in the trailer and assigned security shifts for the night. Inside the office was another franchise location of Palmer’s new favorite grocery store—a vending machine. She’d successfully cleaned out several at the hotel the night of the EMP. Those munchies were long gone, as was the food provided to them by Fiorella.
The rodeo kids hadn’t eaten in thirty-six hours. Riley was the most vocal about their lack of food, but after several bags of chips, he was feeling better about their situation.
They loaded up their truck and prepared it to leave in a hurry if necessary. As was customary, they planned out their next day before they settled in for the night.
Palmer studied the map and found a country road to bypass the small town of Julesburg. They’d experienced enough mayhem around these typically quiet hamlets to look for alternative routes, even if it took them a few extra hours.
The same thought process applied to the route they chose toward Texas. The truck enabled them to make better time and swing well to the east of the Denver area to avoid where the nuclear fallout would be the greatest. The highway they chose ran due south to Amarillo.
“Whadya think, Palmer?” asked Cooper before turning in. He’d been driving for hours and was exhausted.
She set down the map and looked in the dim light at both of her brothers.
“Straight south along Highway 385 is about three hundred fifty miles. In a perfect world, that’s about ten hours in Red Rover.”
“Sounds good to me,” said an enthused Riley.
In a perfect world, Cooper thought to himself. This world is far from perfect.
Chapter 39
December 9
Interstate 44
The Red River Bridge
Near Burkburnett, Texas
For two weeks, first Oklahomans, and then Americans from all over the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains began to gather near the Texas border with Oklahoma. The Red River, so named for its reddish-brown color derived from the red soil over which it flowed, had become a natural barrier between those who were starving and desperate, and Texas, which was an oasis in their eyes.
The methods employed by Texas to control their borders combined man-made structures, like fencing, which included concertina wire, and natural boundaries like the Red River. However, while these border protections provided physical barriers to crossing into Texas, the heavily armed members of the Texas Military Department provided a strong mental deterrent. None of the thousands of refugees seeking entry were willing to engage in a shoot-out with the Texans, until now.
Fifteen miles north of Wichita Falls lies the small town of Burkburnett, which was the point of entry into Texas along Interstate 44. The long span of bridge across the Red River had been packed with pedestrians until this cold, below freezing night when the Texas Guardsmen moved in with two water-cannon trucks to push back the crowd.
Adjutant General Deur warned his commanders to avoid the mistakes that had occurred near Beaumont in the days following the EMP. He was keenly aware that international reporters were embedded within the refugee camps that encircled Texas. While the bridge crossing over the Red River at Burkburnett was not near as tall as Beaumont, the visual of human beings jumping into the river, fleeing the crowd-dispersing tools employed by the guardsmen, would play badly in the press and put considerable political pressure on their newly formed government.
He hesitated to undertake the measure, but he considered it necessary for their own safety. The throngs of individuals that gathered in Oklahoma were forcing the pack closer to the Texas border fencing and checkpoints. The ostensibly lucky ones closest to the checkpoint gates were now being mashed into the concrete road barriers put into place.
The people on the bridge had been living in squalor, without food or water. Sanitary conditions were horrendous as the crowds increased on the bridge. For fear of losing their place in line, not that there was one, people began defecating where they stood, emptying their bowels without shame or embarrassment. When it was time to sleep, they lay on the concrete bridge amidst urine and feces. The conditions were animalistic and inhumane.
Yet admitting them into Texas was not the answer, but something had to change. Deur’s instructions to his commanding officer at Burkburnett were simple—move them all off the bridge. Execution of his commands, however, was not.
Those on the bridge had grown accustomed to vehicles coming and going on the Texas side of the border. There was an armed contingent of guardsmen who rotated in and out of guard duty near the concrete barriers and fencing.
When the two mobile water-cannon trucks slowly approached the barricades, the sleeping refugees did not pay heed. As the horde of homeless refugees slept, they were infiltrated by two dozen new arrivals. The men wearing dark clothing might have blended in with the group during the day, but at night, walking stealthily toward the barricades with their automatic weapons at low ready, they were menacing.
This contingent of fighters, assembled and dispatched to the bridge crossing the Red River, was a combination of CIA operatives and military personnel with no ties to Texas. Their orders—create a breach into Texas that could be captured on film by the media. When they asked about rules of engagement, the response they received was the uglier, the better.
The water cannons and the U.S. government operatives were about to collide in the center of the bridge. The first stage of ugly was about to begin.
Chapter 40
December 9
Interstate 44
The Red River Bridge
Near Burkburnett, Texas
Using silenced M4 rifles, the well-equipped operatives began to implement their plan. From their intelligence, they were aware that the Texas Guardsmen were ordered to avoid firing upon the refugees unless absolutely necessary, such as a breach of their barricades. This allowed the operatives a jump-start on their assault of the Texas border.
With the near silent spit of their rifles, they shot out the large portable lighting that illuminated the barrier system. The explosion associated with the bulbs awakened the refugees, immediately grabbing their attention like a tin can rattling down the street could pique the curiosity of the Walking Dead.
The group stumbled to their feet just as the operatives were cutting multiple holes in the chain-link fencing, allowing them entry into the maze of concrete barriers. The speed at which the operatives moved caught the Texas Guardsmen by surprise, and they became easy targets as they mistakenly showed themselves to the operatives. One by one, as they raised their heads above the protective barriers, they lost their lives.
The operatives were then caught by a surprise of their own. Change is often achieved when a confluence of events occurs. The operatives had the upper hand and would’ve been able to declare the operation a rousing success until the water cannons opened up on them.
Rather than being able to push forward against the unsuspecting Texas Guardsmen, they were beaten down by the water cannons. Their attempts to fire upon the armored vehicles were fruitless.
As the relentless barrage of water knocked them to the pavement or forced them behind the barricades, the seasoned operatives sensed they were outmatched. Some were badly injured, losing their weapons in the process. Others continued to maintain cover behind the concrete barricades for safety. The paid mercenaries considered themselves beaten.
However, the determination of the refugees trumped the will of the operatives. After living in the filthy and wretched conditions, hoping for the day that Texas would grant them entry, the mass of humanity moved forward.
And they took up arms as they did. They grabbed the M4s knocked from the hands of the operatives. They picked up the weapons of the dead guardsmen. They advanced against the water cannons, resolute and with a sense of purpose that would not be soon forgotten.
The
first several hundred managed to avoid the intense streams of water and burst into the open clearing on the Texas side of the bridge. Sprinting to freedom, they sought dry ground in Texas, which they were sure held all the answers.
As the operators of the water cannons finally found their aim, the thousands behind this initial group got bogged down attempting to force their way through the fences, barricades, and bodies that began to clog the paths around the Texas border crossing. Frightened and desperate, Beaumont repeated itself as refugees began to jump off both sides of the bridge.
But the dam had broken, and for those on the Oklahoma side of the bridge, the proverbial flood, this crack in the Texas armor was all they needed as the bum rush for the Texas oasis began.
*****
Alarm bells rang throughout Sheppard Air Force Base in nearby Wichita Falls. Prior to the collapse, Sheppard was primarily used as a training base for airmen and civilians of all branches of the military. Because of its proximity to the major border crossing fifteen miles to its north, it also housed a quick reaction force made up of military personnel reassigned from Fort Hood in Killeen, designated the TX-QRF.
The TX-QRF was comprised of ground-based and helicopter teams. The Texas Air National Guard contributed two Sikorsky Black Hawk helicopters to Sheppard with heavy-caliber machine guns mounted underneath. In their history, these choppers were never used to fire on Americans, or Texans, until now.
After the team assembled, the Black Hawks lifted off and raced toward the bridge, covering the fifteen miles in just minutes. Without hesitation, they began to fire warning shots upon the thousands of people attempting to climb over one another to gain a foothold in Texas, unknowing that the wet foot, dry foot policy, which applied to Cuban refugees entering Florida, didn’t mean diddly-squat in Texas.
When the warning shots didn’t produce the desired results, the fifty-caliber tracer rounds fell from the sky on the refugees in an endless barrage of death. The water cannons continued to fire until they drained their tanks nearly simultaneously. The crowd began to retreat, pushing and shoving one another to avoid the hellfire raining down upon them.
As the troop transports from Sheppard arrived, the field commanders were advised to continue with the removal of the refugees from the bridge. They ordered the mobile water cannons to fall back, and they were replaced with armored D11 bulldozers supplied by the U.S. Army.
Previously used to remove stalled vehicles from the bridge and to place the concrete barriers in position, the D11s were now ordered to clear the bridge of all debris, human or otherwise.
The nine-hundred-horsepower behemoths roared to life and awaited the mobile water cannons to clear the area. The drivers, infuriated by the demise of their fellow guardsmen at the hands of the refugees, grabbed the controls of the D11s with a death grip and silently vowed revenge. Followed by two dozen Texas Guardsmen, the one-hundred-ten-ton machines each chose a lane of the interstate and lumbered forward.
The D11s were equipped with a twenty-two-foot-wide S-U blade, known as a semi-universal blade, which had more curvature than those designed for grading. This made the military version of the D11 ideal for carrying and pushing various types of material. The bulldozer’s blade was modified slightly to include a dozen sharp teeth along the top of the steel attachment to catch debris, which might cause a jam in its hydraulic mechanisms. It also contained twelve-inch-long forks spaced every foot along the bottom of the S-U blade.
The second wave of refugees had become bogged down in humanity. DO NOT CROSS tape fluttered in the breeze from the mangled chain-link fencing and the bridge’s safety railings. As the D11s approached, those closest to a new life in their perceived oasis, Texas, had no chance. Some of them tried to turn and run, but they were unable to force themselves against those at the rear, who were cramming themselves onto the bridge.
They ran into the razor wire, became entangled, and flailed to pull themselves free, ripping gashes into their bodies. Blood poured onto the bridge, mixing with the feces and urine of those who had occupied the space just an hour before.
For a while, the retreating refugees got the upper hand, pushing the crowd back toward Oklahoma. Not to be deterred in their quest to cross the bridge, those at the rear gathered their strength and momentum as they continued to push toward Texas. The masses of people swayed back and forth in a series of agitated waves.
Pushing forward, the mighty machines shoved everything in their path toward Oklahoma. Concrete barriers, fencing with razor wire, and refugees, both dead and alive, were piled together like rubbish at a landfill.
Those who were older and smaller fell down and were trampled underfoot before the blades, which were the width of the highway, gathered them up. People were releasing guttural, primal screams in utter fear as the massive machines pursued them, gored them with the teeth of their steel blades, and moved relentlessly forward.
“Look out, it’s not stopping!”
“Run for your lives!”
“Go back! Go back!”
Shouts of despair and agony filled the air as the twin dozers continued to push everything in their path back to Oklahoma. The refugees sought safety, and many chose to exit the bridge by jumping into the Red River below. Bodies landed on their backs, killing the jumpers instantly. Those who survived the leap were treated to a shower of blood flowing from the drainage scuppers from the bridge. The Red River had truly turned red.
Those who didn’t choose the jump-off-the-bridge exit option or survive the rush back to Oklahoma became mutilated and crushed under the power of the D11 bulldozers.
By daybreak, a pile of unrecognizable corpses and body parts, mixed with concrete, wire, and debris, created a new border barricade on the other side of the Red River Bridge. A new line in the sand had been established.
In the dark and cold of that night, both sides of a political struggle accomplished their purpose. Texas cleared its bridge, and Washington created its media firestorm.
Chapter 41
December 9
Gila National Forest
Near Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
“In North Korea, laws were passed to provide women equality.” Sook continued her conversation with Duncan as their horses trudged through the fifteen inches of snow that had fallen in the last forty-eight hours. The storm moved through quickly, and the sun provided much-needed warmth on their bodies. “With these laws, women were allowed to work at a job, we could inherit from our families, and we were free to marry and divorce.”
“America is the same way,” said Duncan. “But I heard that North Korea has arranged marriages.”
“Yes, sometimes. Over time, arranged marriages disappeared so couples could make love matches. In the country, traditional families require children to get their parents’ permission to marry. Your choice was made for you years in advance.”
Duncan slowed their pace as the slope ahead of them began to decline at a steeper rate. He stopped them for a moment and studied the map he’d pulled off the wall at the ranger center. Duncan had followed trails to avoid the highest mountain peaks of the Gila National Forest, which were to his south. In order to avoid the town of Truth or Consequences, he led them parallel to the Rio Grande River toward the Mexican border.
The thinning of the forest coupled with the rougher terrain indicated they were close to the river and the much flatter plains of Eastern New Mexico. Pleased with their progress despite the snowy weather, Duncan folded up the map, and the two pressed on.
He wanted to continue the conversation with Sook, as he was just as fascinated with life for the people of North Korea as Sook was with the American way of life.
“Duncan, have you been married?”
“No. I have always been focused on my military career.”
Sook rode quietly for another moment before shyly asking, “Do you have a girlfriend at home?”
Duncan began to laugh. “No. No girlfriend at home. Did you have a boyfriend?”
“No. The bo
ys I knew from the village were all fishermen. They were destined to live their lives on Sinmi-do. I wished for more.”
Duncan laughed heartily at her statement. “We have a saying in America. Be careful what you wish for.”
Sook smiled. Duncan realized that she rarely allowed herself a genuine, deep from the belly laugh. She continued to be restrained. To him, it appeared North Korean women were still subjugated to the men despite the laws enacted in Pyongyang. It was part of their culture.
“I understand,” she finally added. “I dreamed of plans for my life, but I learned fate does not care about my plans. I dreamed of escape to the South, but I never dreamed of going to America.”
“Sook, I am a firm believer in fate. Everything happens for a reason, and sometimes, those reasons are not very clear. I think a lot about the death of my brother Dallas. I question why God would take him from our family.”
Duncan stopped again near the final drop into the Rio Grande River valley and looked to Sook. He was becoming emotional. “Some people spend their whole lives seeking their fate. Others, like myself, run into their fate head-on in unexpected ways. Sook, I will never forget when I opened my eyes and saw your face. I knew that we were meant to be together. There is a reason people like you and I find each other. Maybe it is God’s will, or maybe it is fate. But I know this, you have changed my life, and I thank God we are together.”
Sook looked down and began to cry. Duncan didn’t know what to do. He had never poured his heart out like that to a woman before. Being vulnerable had not been an option in this soldier’s hardened heart.
“Duncan, I have fallen in love with you,” Sook blurted out her feelings.
Duncan fought back tears that he hadn’t experienced since Dallas died. “I love you too.”