And it wouldn’t be any easier for the rest of them to get through this new day without knowing where or how he was.
-7-
Scott lay on the couch for what seemed hours, debating on whether to move. The bleeding seemed to have stopped on both his entry and exit wounds. His shoulder was still mostly numb. The searing pain from the night before was now more a dull ache.
He was thirsty. But all in all, he didn’t think he was in too bad of shape for a man who’d been shot and left for dead. And he wondered if he was better off just staying thirsty, instead of moving and taking the chance of restarting the bleeding.
He very gingerly felt the area around the wound. It didn’t feel hot to the touch, or particularly hard. He wasn’t a medical expert, but he took that to mean that he wasn’t bleeding internally. At least not to the degree that he’d lose all of his blood.
Still, he knew he couldn’t lay here forever. He was in a comfortable and safe setting, but no one lived here anymore. No one would show up to help him. He had to keep his wits about him, and figure out a way to get himself to a hospital.
He dozed off to sleep again.
When he awakened, it was no longer dark outside. From the angle of the light coming through the window, he guessed late morning.
He was parched. He needed water.
As gingerly as he could, he eased himself off of the couch and onto his knees. He knew not to stand too quickly. He knew that blood loss would cause him lightheadedness and he might pass out again.
And he knew if he passed out from a standing position and hit the floor hard, the bleeding would probably restart.
So he took his time.
First, he was on both knees next to the couch. Then one knee. Then on both feet, but bent over with his hands on his knees.
And slowly… very slowly, he lifted his head and straightened his body.
And he felt dizzy. He felt himself starting to pass out.
He bent over again and put his hands back on his knees to steady himself. And took several deep breaths.
When he felt he was ready, he tried again. More slowly this time.
The second time was the charm. He’d been able to stand, and as far as he could tell the wound hadn’t started bleeding again.
He knew his body would be trying to replenish his blood supply, and it would need plenty of water to do so.
His balance appeared to be good. So he slowly walked, one step at a time, back to the kitchen sink, and to the half filled water glass he’d left there before.
He drank two full glasses, before his stomach started to rebel. He felt nauseous. Almost like he wanted to throw the water back up again.
Then he felt confused. Why would his body want to throw up water?
Maybe it wanted food instead.
But that wasn’t going to happen. He knew instinctively that every bit of food that had once been in the house had already been looted. And even if it hadn’t been, he had no strength to go looking for it.
Then it occurred to him that maybe he was delusional. Maybe he wasn’t nauseated at all. Maybe his mind was just trying to tell him to slow down. To stop guzzling his water. To give his body time to process what he already drank.
He drank most of a third glass, more slowly this time.
The nausea went away. But the lightheadedness returned.
He held onto the kitchen island for support. He stood there for what was only a minute or so, but it seemed like hours. He could see the couch, a mere fifteen feet away. If he could make it there, he could rest once again, while he decided what to do next.
He had to leave the house. He knew that. Help wouldn’t come to him, not here. He had to go to them. Get to a hospital. Or to someone who could take him to one.
He took a couple of deep breaths and let go of the island. He put his left food in front of his right and struggled to retain his balance.
That was as far as he got before he passed out and fell to the floor once again.
-8-
Robbie had been calling in the early afternoons with his status updates. He was working twelve hour shifts because the SAPD was so undermanned now. On their extended shift schedule, day shift officers took their lunch around two p.m.
It was an odd time of the afternoon to stop for chow, but for some reason that always seemed to be the quietist time of day.
Before John checked himself into the hospital, he and Robbie usually managed to meet somewhere in North District 2 and had lunch together. With his best friend in the hospital, lunch wasn’t nearly as much fun for Robbie. Half the time he just worked right through. The days he didn’t were the days that he used his lunch hour to go to John’s house to update Hannah on his condition.
Everyone in the compound knew that Robbie generally called between two and three p.m. on even numbered days.
And on this even numbered day, most of them huddled behind Hannah at the security desk, waiting for his call.
At two fifty, the call finally came.
“Hannah, this is Robbie. Got your ears on?”
“I’m here, Robbie. Go ahead.”
“Just wanted to give you John’s status. I delivered the meds to his hospital room as soon as I got them. I went by there this morning to check up on him. There’s no change so far, but the doctors are optimistic. They say that now that he’s getting his full course, chances are very good the infection will start to clear and he’ll come out of his coma.”
“Thank you, Robbie, for that. And God bless you for keeping me informed. I have to ask another big favor of you.”
“I’ll try. What do you need?”
“Scott, the man who brought you the amoxicillin, is missing. He never came back home two nights ago. We’re worried sick that something may have happened to him.”
“When should he have returned?”
“He should have been back just a few hours after he left you. Some of us are afraid he may be injured or wounded, and in need of help. Do you remember hearing any gunshots in your area after he left you that night?”
“I don’t remember. But I hear gunshots every night of the week. You know that. I’ve learned to tune them out most of the time, unless they’re very close or directed at me.”
“Is there anything you can do to search the area behind Scott’s house, where the power lines are? He would have been heading north.”
“Yes. I’ll take a drive there this afternoon. Is there a road under the power lines?”
“Yes. That’s the road we took to get up here. Hold on a minute. His girlfriend Joyce wants to talk to you.”
“Robbie, this is Joyce. I know you’ve got your hands full down there, and I wouldn’t ask for your help, but we’re desperate.”
“It’s okay, Joyce. He brought the medicine that’s going to save my best friend’s life. I’ll help any way I can. I never saw the vehicle he was in. Can you describe it for me?”
“It’s a four wheel drive Gator. It’s a utility vehicle made by John Deere. Green in color. It’s like a quad runner on steroids, with a very small pickup bed in the back.”
“Okay, I’ve seen those. The grounds crew at the Alamo Dome use those when they’re setting up for the rodeo each year.”
“Our worst fears are that he was shot and the Gator was taken from him. If that’s the case, he may be laying out there somewhere wounded and in need of medical attention.
“Our best case scenario, the one we’re really hoping for, is that the Gator broke down and he couldn’t get it running, and that he’s walking back.”
“Not a problem. I’ll watch out for the Gator. If I see it broken down, I’ll just head north until I come across him.”
“No, I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Robbie. He won’t travel during the daytime. He knows it’s too dangerous. He’ll hide in the brush and sleep during the day, and then resume his travels at night.”
“It’ll be hard to find him if he’s sleeping in the brush.”
“We’ve thought of that. But h
ere’s how you can find him. As you drive north under the power lines, you’ll periodically see a black trash bag. Those are his emergency food and water caches, in the event he had to walk back. He was going to drop one of them every ten miles or so. If the first few bags you come across are empty, that means he went past that point and took the water and food out of the bag.”
“Okay.”
“When you come to a bag that still has water and granola bars, that means you’ve passed him. He hasn’t made it that far yet.”
“Okay. When I get to that point, if I yell for him is he likely to hear me?”
“Maybe, but maybe not. If he’s close by he might. But that’s a ten mile stretch where he could be hiding. He has night vision goggles. If you write him a note and attach it to the bag, you can tell him to wait there for you. Then you can come back in the night and pick him up.”
Robbie’s heart sank, but he didn’t say anything. He hated all nighters. Especially as tired and overworked as he was. But he’d do whatever he could to help. He’d tell Scott in the note that he’d pick him up in the hours just before sunrise. Then he’d go in a couple of hours early to do it. He’d lose a little sleep, but since his wife died he didn’t have much of a life anyway.
“Okay, let me get off of here and head out that way. John told me you guys want to keep your location a secret, and I think that’s a good idea. If I find him I’ll bring him as far as he’ll let me, without telling me where you are. If I can’t find him I’ll call you back later tonight or tomorrow and let you know that too.”
There was a third option, that he’d find Scott’s body. But he intentionally didn’t mention that.
-9-
Robbie left John and Hannah’s house and got back into his squad car. He called in to report that he was back on duty, and asked if he had any calls.
“Negative. All’s quiet in your sector.”
The timing was good. The afternoons were usually relatively slow. Suicide calls, mostly, until darkness. Then the thugs started to come out. This was definitely the best time of day to go search for a missing guy on a John Deere Gator.
The scrap of paper with Scott’s address was still in the cup holder of his patrol car from two nights before. 3064 Royal Valley Drive. That was a good thing. Robbie had a good memory, and probably could have found his way back even without the help, but as tired as he was, his memory might fail him.
He turned onto Royal Valley Drive and drove up a steep hill that seemed to go on forever.
As he came up to 3064, he slowed, and noted how different the house looked in the daytime. He also noted that it was the second two story house from the corner, and was the color of a Coors beer can.
Robbie could see the tall power lines behind the house. Now all he had to do was find an access road to get over to them.
As he drove away from 3064 Royal Valley Drive, Scott lay unconscious on the living room floor, his breathing labored and shallow. He’d lost an awful lot of blood and was near death.
Robbie drove up the street, looking for a turnoff toward the power lines. As he drove, he formulated a game plan. If he did indeed find the Gator broken down and abandoned, he’d continue north underneath the power lines and check the black plastic trash bags as he went. Once he found the full one, he’d double back, and use the police car’s public address speaker to announce, “Scott, this is John’s friend Robbie. I’m here to help you.”
He knew that if Scott was within a quarter mile of the car, he’d hear him and come out of the brush. And that would save Robbie the trouble of having to come back at night to pick him up.
He’d make the announcement continually, and drive slowly enough to allow Scott time to wake up and come out of hiding. And on the odd chance they didn’t hook up, the note would be on the bag directing him to stay put and wait for Robbie to come for him before dawn.
It was a brilliant plan. He congratulated himself for thinking of it.
Two blocks farther up the street, there was a break in the houses and a gravel road that headed off toward the power lines.
A small white sign with blue lettering announced:
Bexar Metropolitan Power Company. Keep out.
Robbie turned his patrol car and drove slowly up the gravel road. After forty yards, it connected with a narrow paved road that headed north underneath the high tension lines.
Driving beneath the huge towers was intimidating, but he suspected it would have been much worse if he had known there was power coursing through the wires overhead.
As he drove slowly north, he kept watch on the backs of the houses, trying to determine which one was Scott’s. If he was attacked, it might have happened before he drove off on his Gator. That might be where his body was. Robbie hoped that wasn’t the case. But that’s where he’d begin his search.
There it was. A two story house, second house from the corner, the color of a Coors can. Robbie suddenly got thirsty for a cold beer. It had been a long time since he’d had one.
As he looked at the house off in the distance, he saw something. It was pure luck that he saw it. The scrub brush blocked most of it. But there, forty yards away, directly behind Scott’s house, there was something somehow peculiar about the fence.
It appeared to be missing a couple of pieces.
Robbie parked his cruiser and walked through the area to the fence. As he walked, he continued to look through the brush for a body, or for signs of a struggle. He saw neither.
When he got to the fence, he saw that two of the fence slats had been ripped off and left laying on the ground.
A looter, he’d suspected, too lazy to hop the fence.
But then he noticed something even more peculiar. One of the slats still attached to the fence, the one adjacent to the hole, had blood on it.
Whoever pulled those two slats off the fence and squeezed through the hole was injured in some way.
Robbie Benton wasn’t a small guy. He was bulky in the manner of someone who’d lifted weights most of his life, and was born with naturally broad shoulders.
Plus, he’d added bulk that morning when he donned his bulletproof vest and service belt.
There was no way he was going to fit through that small hole in the fence.
But he figured, what the hell? The damage was already done. So he grabbed the top of the next picket and pulled hard on it until it separated from the cross pieces. He laid it on the ground and grabbed the next one. Then one more.
Now it was more accommodating for a man of his size. He squeezed through the fence, drew his service weapon, and keyed his microphone.
“Northwest, this is Charlie one-nine.”
“Go ahead, Charlie one-nine.
“Show me at three oh six four Royal Valley Drive, at the rear of the house. I’m out of my unit, investigating a possible prowler and a report of a missing person.”
“10-4. Do you need backup?”
“Not at present.”
Robbie noted that the sliding patio door had been left completely open.
It wasn’t an uncommon thing for prowlers to do. Especially when they weren’t sure if the house might be occupied. They wanted a quick getaway in case they encountered an angry homeowner with a weapon.
“SAPD. Come out of the house, do it now!”
He listened closely for any sign of movement or any conversation inside the house. He half expected to hear the sounds of someone opening the front door and bolting through it.
Had that happened, he wouldn’t have given chase. The SAPD had shifted its focus from capturing petty criminals to helping the community survive. Looters were everywhere, and the vast majority of them never hurt anyone. They were just doing what they had to do to stay alive.
Not hearing any sounds within the house made Robbie a bit more confident it was empty, and he moved closer for a better look. That’s when he saw Scott, through the open patio door, lying unconscious on the living room floor.
“Northwest, this is Charlie one-nine.”
“Go ahead, Charlie one-nine.”
“Do you have a unit with a paramedic on-board near my location?”
“Any unit with a medic, respond to three oh six four Royal Valley Drive, see Charlie one-nine.”
“Charlie three-one, rolling, five minutes. Is Charlie one-nine the patient?”
Robbie keyed his mike.
“Negative. Patient is a civilian. I believe he’s the man who brought the medicine to save John Castro.”
The paramedic got on the radio.
“What’s his condition?”
“Unconscious. Bullet wound to the upper shoulder. Not bleeding at present, but his clothing is soaked. He’s breathing, but just barely.”
“10-4. We can stabilize and transport. Be there in a couple of minutes.”
-10-
“This is Robbie calling from San Antonio for Hannah. Are you there, Hannah?”
The radio call caught everyone off guard. It was just after dinnertime, and everyone was dreading another long night when they would all be up, hoping and praying for Scott to appear. Or at least get close enough to call on his radio to report he was okay.
But they weren’t expecting a call from Robbie.
Hannah rushed from the dining room to the security console. She was half full of anticipation and half full of dread. She knew Robbie wouldn’t call unless he had something to report.
The only question was, what was he reporting? It could be very good news, or very bad.
“Go ahead, Robbie. This is Hannah.”
“Hi, Hannah. First of all, I don’t want to get your hopes up. We found a man in Scott’s house. Unconscious from a bullet wound. He’s alive, but the doctors say that he lost an awful lot of blood and he’s in bad shape.
“The problem is, we don’t know who it is. It might be Scott, but we can’t tell because he has no identification on him.
“It could be someone who was shot in a gun battle and took refuge in Scott’s house.
Rise From The Ashes: The Rebirth of San Antonio (Countdown to Armageddon Book 3) Page 4