Her Name is Beth: Alone: Book 5

by Darrell Maloney

  There were two very distinct types of road travelers. Most of them, probably ninety percent or better, had adopted a peaceful approach toward other travelers. Kind of a “you go your way and I’ll go mine” approach.

  They were suspicious but friendly, nodding or waving as they met, but not spending a lot of time getting to know one another.

  It was born of a realization that there were enough provisions on the lonely highways for everybody. Most of the trailers hadn’t even been cracked open yet. Others had been barely picked at. There was no need for violence.

  Of course, the other ten percent of the highway nomads didn’t see it that way. They were likely miscreants and thieves even before the world went to hell. And they continued to do what they knew. To take advantage of others. To make others do the hard work of looking around for food and water and then gathering it up.

  And taking it away from them.

  Those type of individuals… the violent ten percent, would likely never change. Someday their luck would run out. A would-be victim would decide that enough was enough. That he was tired of being used. And he’d fight back. Maybe the bad guy would win and keep being bad.

  Or maybe the good guy would win one and the world would become a little bit safer.

  In any event, Dave adopted the same position the peace-loving nomads did.

  He’d be suspicious of everybody. He’d be ready to fight.

  And he’d hope he didn’t have to.

  As Dave lay upon the sleeper cab’s foam mattress trying to go back to sleep he wondered why it was he’d gotten so sloppy lately.

  He wondered whether the stress of finding his family, then fighting a fierce battle for them had taken its toll.

  And that maybe the additional stress of little Beth missing had compounded his condition.

  Or maybe he was just tired. Just bone tired.

  It wasn’t like him to fall asleep on watch. It wasn’t like him at all.

  So he made himself a resolution. He and Sarah had once gone for long walks in the evenings, when the weather was nice. He’d always enjoyed the walks, both because it gave the two of them time alone from the girls to talk about their troubles and dreams.

  But also because it relaxed him. And it tired him out a bit.

  Just enough to guarantee a peaceful night’s rest.

  He was night traveling. That meant the twelve hours or so that the sun was up were absolutely worthless when it came to putting additional miles under his tires. But he didn’t need twelve hours of sleep.

  The result was that he had about four hours per day of down time. Time to read or to gather food or to hunt and fish if there were resources nearby.

  Or… to walk. As he saw it, being cooped up in the Explorer in a seated position all night, constantly on edge from watching in the darkness ahead of him, was stressing him out.

  He hoped a walk of a couple of miles each day would fix that. Would allow him to relax. To let the stress melt away. And then to let him get a peaceful rest.

  He was tired of making stupid mistakes which jeopardized his safe journey, and his mission to find young Beth and bring her back.

  He owed it to his daughter to stop being a screw-up. He was her one and only chance of ever being rescued and reunited with her family.

  He had to get his act together. For her sake.

  He finally fell asleep, and the resolution of his problem seemed to pacify him just a bit. He slept well, for the first time in several days.

  About five p.m. he awoke again, stretched, and climbed out of the tractor.

  He had just enough time to rummage through a trailer he’d passed half a mile up the road. A big white trailer with “Walmart” on the side.

  He was in the mood for canned spaghetti.

  He hoped he found a few cans.

  Chapter 19

  Dave Speer didn’t consider himself to be a violent man by nature. Sure, he’d been in the United States Marine Corps and had served two tortuous tours in Iraq. And he’d been in a lot of firefights, shooting alongside other Marines at insurgents in the deserts around Fallujah.

  Some of his bullets probably found their mark. But autopsies aren’t performed on dead insurgents. Ballistics tests aren’t conducted on the bullets which killed them. When several marines are firing at the same target, each man can easily convince himself that his was the kill shot.

  Or, to ease their peace of mind, they can convince themselves that their shots missed. Sometimes it’s easier for soldiers to reconcile their behavior with their God that way. It gives them a way out. A sense of plausible deniability.

  Dave took it for granted that of the thousands of shots he fired at Iraqi insurgents, some of them undoubtedly found their mark. That he had killed. But it didn’t bother him. For in war, it’s kill or be killed. The insurgents were firing back.

  The men he killed to free his family, on the other hand, could not be disputed. He killed some of them at long distance, with a sniper rifle. He killed some of them at close range.

  But he had killed them all.

  Sometimes that knowledge made it hard for him to sleep, or filled his thoughts while he was awake.

  Sometimes he prayed to God to forgive him, for he knew that taking another’s life was expressly forbidden in the Bible he so much believed in .

  But he also knew that his God was a benevolent god, and as such surely He would forgive Dave for his transgressions. After all, there were extenuating circumstances. Just as he was able to justify in his own mind that shooting Iraqis was self-defense, he was also able to justify the killing of the men who held his family.

  He never saw his daughters before he started his campaign. He saw his wife from a distance, and he saw a man strike her hard enough to knock her to the ground. He’d kept his cool and avoided the urge to rush in at that time. If he had he surely would have been shot and unable to rescue his family. But witnessing the assault on his wife told him what he needed to know. That these were vile and violent men. That they might have killed his daughters and would certainly have no qualms about killing his wife.

  And that he had to take whatever action was necessary to rescue his family. Even if that action included killing.

  Still, he didn’t consider himself a violent man. He’d never intentionally started a fight in his life. But he’d never run from one either.

  But he was conflicted. On the one hand he asked God to forgive him for taking the lives he had taken.

  And on the other hand, as he drove along the darkened highway toward Albuquerque, he plotted revenge on the people who’d kidnapped her. Revenge which would almost certainly call for him to kill again.

  They deserved it, without a doubt. For them to kidnap a young child of eight years… take her away from her mother and sister after she’d already had to live without a father for a year…

  To Dave, that was an act not much better than killing her outright. For he could only imagine the torment she must have felt when getting ripped away from her family.

  What torment she must still be feeling, some six months or so later.

  If she was even still alive.

  Dave tried not to think about that part. The possibility she might be dead.

  But the other possibilities were just as troubling.

  The possibility she’d been turned into a domestic slave. That she was being forced to cook and clean for their captors. Perhaps raise their crops for them. And God only knew what else.

  No, Dave Speer didn’t consider himself a violent man, although he had killed.

  And these people deserved to die.

  Chapter 20

  In the Dykes’ bunker, Sarah and Lindsey and the others were making themselves at home. Any reservations Sarah had about moving in with these strangers had eased.

  The brothers had been perfect hosts, and had treated the newcomers with nothing but respect.

  Sarah knew it must have been a terrible imposition for them. Bringing in the people from Karen’s farm more tha
n doubled the size of their group. And while they had the room, cramped and cozy as it was, it was still a big change to their routine. People were still trying to memorize names, still trying to get to know one another, a week after they’d moved in and Dave had departed on his latest quest.

  Sarah and Lindsey were sitting at a table talking to Jacob and Kara Dykes.

  “You know,” Sarah said, “I was a bit apprehensive about living underground. I thought it would drive me crazy. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I thought I’d feel the walls closing in on me and I’d have to fight hard to resist the urge to run.

  “But honestly, it’s not as hard as I thought it would be. I mean, the lights are on all the time except in my bunk, so it’s not all dark and foreboding like I thought it would be. And when I miss the sunshine, all I have to do is go up in the pill box and look out the window for a bit. And I guess you can’t beat a set-up like this for security. I mean, it would be pretty hard to break into this place.”

  Lindsey added her two cents.

  “I just want to thank you guys again for even letting us come in here. You didn’t have to. But I’m glad you did.”

  Kara rolled her eyes and countered, “Oh, there you go again. Stop thanking us. We just did what neighbors are supposed to do. You were in a bind and we helped you out. It didn’t hurt us in any way. You brought several boxes of provisions with you, so you won’t make much of a dent in ours. And we have plenty anyway, since we were planning from more people. We have the space, as long as you don’t mind living underground. And in a lot of ways, you’re helping us out too.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “By relieving some of the monotony around here. By giving us someone new to talk to. And giving me more patsies that I can whoop at Monopoly and cards.”

  She smiled a wicked smile before going on.

  “We were going stir crazy before you came along. Your mom was talking about the walls closing in on her. That’s the way we were starting to feel, after being down here in this hole for over a year. Each day was just like the one before it and every day to come. Life had become hum-drum and monotonous. There was nothing to look forward to when we got out of bed in the morning.

  “Now we have more things to do. More things to talk about. More people to get to know, to bond with. There are more people to help with the chores, and now there’s enough so even when I do my chores I’m not alone. When I wash the dishes there’s somebody there to dry them. There’s nothing in the world more boring than doing the dishes with no one to talk to. So we’re glad you’re here. You’ve livened up the place. And it’s absolutely wonderful having children around again.

  “So stop thanking us. You guys coming in to stay with us, even though it’s temporary, has benefitted us as much as it has you.”

  Mark walked into the room and addressed Sarah.

  “So. Are you ready to pull your first shift at guard duty?”

  Sarah stood up and smiled.

  “Aye aye, Captain. Ready to go.”

  Mark laughed.

  “Okay, SpongeBob. Follow me.”

  Sarah followed him up the steps and into the concrete structure everyone called “the pill box” or “the tower.” It wasn’t really tall enough to be called a tower, since it rose only a few feet above ground level. But since the rest of their compound was underground, it was indeed the highest point of their world.

  The tower was cramped with four people in it, but it wouldn’t be for long. The pair was relieving Karen and Mason, who were coming off an eight hour shift.

  Mark asked his younger brother, “Anything going on?”

  “Nope. Quiet. Just the way I like it.”

  Since it was her first shift, Mark’s mission today would be to train Sarah, just as his brother had trained Karen.

  “Sit in that corner over there,” he told her. From that vantage point you can see in two different directions. Try to divide your attention equally between the two windows. But don’t focus on either one for too long. Sweep your eyes and change windows every few seconds, so no one has a chance to sneak up on you.”

  She turned to look at him and said, “Okay. Will do.”

  “Nope. Don’t ever turn your head. Don’t ever look away from the windows. Looking at people when you talk to them is something you’ll have to get out of the habit of doing. At least when you’re on guard duty.”

  Karen laughed.

  Sarah asked, “Now what’s so darned funny?”

  “Nothing. It sounds like the same lecture Mason gave me when I started my first shift eight hours ago. That’s all.”

  Karen and Mason disappeared down the stairs and Mark continued with his training.

  “You’ll notice that even though we call them windows, they’re actually firing ports. No glass or screens, and the openings are wider on the outside of the structure than they are on the inside. Do you know why?”

  “I’d guess it’s to make us a smaller target. And to be able to sweep the muzzle of our weapons from side to side if we’re shooting at somebody.”

  “Hey! You’re pretty smart for a dame.”

  He smiled. She did too, and started to turn her head to look at him but caught herself.

  There was no animosity in his comment. She took it as it was intended: a joke. They’d talked a lot in the week or so since they’d met and had become fast friends.

  They both had the same sense of humor.

  Chapter 21

  As Karen relaxed twenty feet below the tower by opening up a Cola Cola and sitting down to help the children with a jigsaw puzzle, Sarah and Mark continued their training in the tower.

  “When’s the last time you fired a weapon, Sarah?”

  “Oh, gee. It’s been way over a year. Dave and I went to the range a couple of times a month before the blackout. I was a pretty decent shot with the AR-15 at fifty yards. Average with the nine millimeter. But I’m sure I’m pretty rusty now.”

  “Have you ever shot at a moving target?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll consider you not trained at all. We’ll have to fix that.”

  She fought the urge to turn her head. Instead she looked straight ahead, through the firing port and onto the west side of the clearing. After a few seconds she’d turn her head slightly and look out the other side, then back again.

  Looking at someone when she spoke to them was a habit, as it was for most people. She understood that while on guard duty it was a very bad habit, and one she’d break.

  While watching a red-tailed squirrel scurrying across the clearing, she asked him, “You consider me not trained at all in firing weapons? But why not?”

  “Because firing at a still target at a gun range is a good thing. Don’t get me wrong. It familiarizes you with your weapons and gets you used to using them. So you can fire them without thinking and be comfortable with them.

  “But firing at a stationary target is pretty much worthless when you’re being shot at. For one thing, you’ll have to fight the tendency to duck. The very last place you’ll want to be is looking out that window lining up your shot. Your brain cell will be telling you to take cover. To hide.

  “But you won’t have that option. You’ll have to expose yourself to enemy fire in order to fire back. You’ll have the advantage of the firing port, and they’ll be out in the open. But they likely won’t be stationary targets. The smart ones will stay still only long enough to fire. Then they’ll be on the move to a new location. You’ll have to get used to sighting in on a moving target and then leading them before you fire.

  “Shooting at a moving target is a lot harder than you think it is, and a lot different than shooting at a stationary target. Especially when that moving target’s shooting back to you.”

  “So how do we ‘fix that,’ as you so eloquently put it?”

  “One of us goes hunting every few weeks or so. For deer if we can find one. If we can’t we settle for three or four rabbits or several birds. Squirrels if that’s all w
e can find. There’s a million of them around here. They seem to occupy every tree. Ain’t a lot of meat on them, but if you fill up a sack with dead squirrels you can get a couple of meals from them.

  “When we go, we’ll take you out with us. Have you ever used shotgun?”

  “Nope. Dave and I thought we’d be able to survive without shooting any birds.”

  “Big mistake. A lot of preppers thought the same thing. That there would be plenty of game out there. Deer and possums and rabbits. But if you ignore the birds, you’re giving up on a great resource.”

  “Good point.”

  “Each time we go, we’ll take either you or Karen with us. We’ll let you shoot at the birds for awhile while we’re shooting the game. Then, when we have a pretty good supply of meat, we’ll switch. We’ll teach you everything you need to know about shooting an animal who’s on the run. And once you get proficient at that, you’ll be able to shoot a running man if you have to.”

  “Have you ever shot a man, Mark?”

  “Yes. We’ve had to defend our shelter several times. And each time we had to go out when it was over and drag the bodies away. Our first inclination was to leave them there to let them rot, to send a message to others that we were a force to be reckoned with. But the smell of the rotting bodies permeated the bunker and made us nauseous. So we figured it was a better option to drag them away and let them rot in the forest.

  “Now then, since we’re going to consider you untrained for the time being, we’ll call you a watcher but not a shooter. That means, as it sounds, your only responsibility will be to watch for movement outside. Not just in the clearing, but in the tree line as well.

  “Watch the bushes especially close. You can usually see bushes moving if anybody’s moving around in there, even if you can’t see the people.

  “Lean far enough back from the window so they can’t see you. If you get too close to the window, and if they’re a decent shot, they can put a round through your head before you even know they’re there.”