Down the Road: The Fall of Austin

by Bowie Ibarra

  Scooting near her, Mike offered a hand.

  Keri gladly accepted it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  2:29 PM

  Texas State Capitol

  The news of United Nations uniform patches did not sit well with the remaining members of Fireteam Arnold. When they awoke from their hard-earned sleep, Sgt. Arnold explained to his charges the choice given by Cpt. Barrigan. Spc. Noble hated the idea, and openly and vehemently made her opinion known.

  “America is a sovereign nation,” she said. “I refuse to be commanded by a U.S. Army that is under foreign control.”

  Spc. Knight, on the other hand, had no problem with it.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” he said. “We’re working for the U.S. military. If the leaders feel it would be advantageous for us to coordinate with the U.N., so what? Why is the U.S. a member anyway if we’re concerned about sovereignty?”

  Despite Noble’s assertion that some members of the U.N. had been involved in corruption, clandestine operations, and war crimes, Knight suggested that the U.N. had done just as many good things for people around the world.

  “So name one thing,” Noble challenged assertively, but within the boundaries of manners.

  “Shit, Noble, you know I can’t name shit, but—”

  “Exactly,” she fired back with assurance.

  “Yeah, but if we’re talking war crimes and people under the U.S. flag doing dumb shit, then the finger can be pointed right back at us. Those jackasses at Abu Ghraib, the fuckin’ mercs running roughshod over Iraq, the guy tossing that dog over the cliff, and all that other dumb shit pretty much fucked up our image as a nation of good people.”

  “The bad apple,” Sgt. Arnold observed. “One bad apple fucks up the rest of the batch.”

  Noble came back. “Yeah, but that was those fucks. And the people responsible got in trouble for it. It wasn’t us.”

  “You’re right,” Knight said. “But when we throw these fatigues on, we all represent the same thing. Like the Sarge said, one bad apple fucks up the rest.”

  “So what are you sayin’?” Noble asked, irritated. “You’re not with us?”

  Knight was just as irritated, but wanted to close the conversation by making things clear. “Let me stop all this nonsense right now. Yes, the U.N. sucks. But they’ve done good for people. Yes, the U.S. is great, but dumbasses in uniform have made us collectively look bad. My bottom line is this: My allegiance lies with you, Sgt. Arnold. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and back again, sir, if you told me to. You’ve treated me better than anyone ever has in my life, and I thank you. Sir.”

  The spirit in the tent relaxed, recharged. The morale shifted in a positive direction.

  “So what’s the plan?” Noble asked.

  Sgt. Arnold measured the question. “Well, we have a lot of choices, really. We can swallow our pride and iron the patches on now...”

  Noble shook her head while Knight sat steady.

  “Or we can refuse the command and get court-martialed...”

  No one liked that idea.

  “Or we can refuse and go AWOL, which is just dumb.” The men shook their head in agreement. Noble pursed her mouth as if to say the comment was true. But the Sergeant continued, “But considering the state of the world at the moment, I get the feeling we’re not going to be the only ones on that list.”

  “Say we were to jump ship, where would we go?” Knight asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sgt. Arnold replied.

  The trio sat quietly, contemplating their choices.

  “I have some family in Houston,” Noble suggested. “Second cousin, I think.”

  “Yeah, and I have family in San Uvalde,” Sgt. Arnold said. “It might as well be the moon.”

  “Well, what lies between here and those cities?” Knight asked.

  “San Marcos, New Braunfels, San Antonio,” Sgt. Arnold said, referring to the path of IH-35 to San Uvalde. “Hell, those cities alone would present huge problems.”

  “But between here and Houston are a stack of small towns and countryside. I don’t think it would get bad until we got to Houston proper, you know?” Noble said.

  “I know this sounds stupid, but what about the airport?” Knight asked.

  “Knight, that solution would be just badass,” Sgt. Arnold said, “if only we knew how to fly passenger liners. Anyone?”

  The two charges shook their heads.

  “I think we can get to Highway 21 from 183,” Noble said. “But should we hit it going east from here or through Niederwald before Buda and Koehl?”

  Sgt. Arnold was surprised at Noble’s mental acumen. “How the hell do you know about highways in Texas? You’re from Seattle!”

  “Saw a Texas map before we came here. Just wanted to get familiar with the state. My mind just works that way. Good with numbers, too.”

  “Well, shit, Noble. A soldier with initiative. All right then, let’s hear it. What do you think we should do?”

  “I think going east would not be good because we’d be hitting neighborhoods filled with people, alive or viral. That would be bad. Lots of congestion and CCTV cams. But if we were to just hit 35 south, we’d just have to deal with people in their cars.”

  “I think staying on foot until we get to south Austin would be wise, seeing as how we don’t know about traffic and CCTV cams,” Knight said.

  “Traffic in Austin has always been the world’s shittiest,” Sgt. Arnold said. He took a moment to measure the suggestions. “Well, when it comes to plans, it’s not the greatest. We’ve got enough ammo to last us a while if we don’t get into any heavy shit. Our food, on the other hand, not so great. But we can get water easy.” He thought once more. “Okay, here’s the deal: We’re running.”

  A visible sign of surprise hit both Noble and Knight at the same time. Noble’s eyes widened. Knight gulped. They continued to listen.

  “We need to stock up, grab some fresh water, and stroll out of here. We’ll go straight down Congress, cross the bridge, then go down Riverside before hitting 35 south. When we get to William Cannon or Slaughter, we’ll find a vehicle and listen to Miss Mapquest over here.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Sergeant,” Noble said with a smile.

  “Well, it was only the route we took to get here. Just trying to keep it familiar.” He grinned. “All right, we good?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” came the bold replies.

  “Then we move out at zero hundred, gang. Get ready.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  11:01 PM

  South Point Apartments

  It was not the safest hiding place. There was a window directly next to the bed and a sliding glass door in the living room that exposed the apartment to anyone—and anything—that could be standing on the third story landing. Even so, it was the best Keri Lawrence and Mike Runyard could do under the current circumstances.

  Once they settled in and decided they were safe for the time being, Keri bandaged Mike’s ankles and soothed the swelling with ice bags, and checked them regularly throughout the day. Since the scrapes on his arms were of the non-infectious variety, (not caused by gnashing teeth,) she felt safe to treat them normally and apply longer-lasting bandages.

  She prepared a very late lunch with the abandoned food in the apartment. She figured they could last over the next few days if they needed to. At this point there were no threats immediately outside their apartment. They could hear the occasional ghostly moan of the walking dead, and sometimes car horns, sirens, or a scream.

  Mike wasn’t able to fit into any of the clothes left behind by the previous tenant. It was apparent he was a bachelor and had a much smaller frame than Mike did. Mike had half-heartedly scoured around the bedroom and closets to try to find something that would reveal the owner’s identity, if only so maybe one day Mike could track him down and thank him and explain the circumstances of him using his apartment, but the forever nameless, faceless man had left no clear indications of who
he might be.

  Keri and Mike avoided conversation at first, too overwhelmed to say much at all. Also they figured talking might be just enough noise for something outside to hear, and they didn’t want to attract unwanted attention. They knew they had minimal effective offensive weapons. They quietly pinned blankets across the windows, hoping they wouldn’t do more harm than good.

  They muted the television and silently watched The Big Lebowski with the subtitles on. Then Raiders of the Lost Ark. Escaping into the world of the movies together took them away from the unpredictable danger outside their door, three stories below. It provided a temporary sense of normalcy, of safety. Like in the good old days, movie nights provided a sense of relief, a fitting end to a long week. Tonight, it certainly was good company. But after the sun went down they agreed the light emitted by the television was too much and they had to turn it off.

  It was then that they shared the basics of their lives in whispers over the single soft light of a dime-store candle, at first only the vague kinds of things that could be safely shared with a stranger. But as the evening progressed, talk became more specific.

  “I’m really sleepy,” Keri said finally, after her eleventh yawn.

  Mike nodded in agreement.

  “Do you think anything’s going to happen to us here?”

  “I hope not,” Mike said. He knew the windows exposed them to danger, and safety was far from a guarantee.

  Though they had not stepped back outside since their initial meeting earlier that day, the sporadic gunfire, honking of car horns, and distant groans penetrated the walls and resounded in their ears. This was as relaxed as things were going to get.

  They carried the candle with them to the bedroom.

  “You can take the bed,” Mike said. “I’ll take the floor.”

  “No, no, no,” Keri said. “You need to be as comfortable as possible. Seriously. The hard floor isn’t going to help your ankles at all.”

  “No, I insist.”

  “No, I insist,” she said. “Shut up and lay down.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and her dimpled smile even sparked a hint of happiness in Mike’s heart. His lips were forming the beginnings of a smile as he averted his eyes shyly. He sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly lifted his legs up and onto the mattress, being gentle with his ankles. They were healing, though; it was a good sign. He fluffed the pillow and laid his head down.

  Keri was squatting in the area between the bed and the closet, her back turned to him as she arranged two layers of blankets on the floor for her to sleep on. She put a pillow down and a thin sheet she could cover up with.

  Mike hadn’t planned to watch her, but found himself doing it anyway. At first his eyes were innocently in that direction, noticing her perfect toes and dainty feet. They were interesting and harmless enough to look at, but he didn’t expect nor was able to look away when she suddenly lifted her slinky one-piece summer dress up her torso and up and over her head. In an instant her bare back was exposed. Even then he was about to look away, but certain things just kept keeping his eyes interested. First it was the cute little ultra-girly white thong with pink trim and polka-dots that snugly fit her posterior. Then it was the barely visible silhouette of her right breast in the candlelight. Then it became the wholeness of her soft and shapely body, topped with a head of silky dirty blonde hair that waved at the slightest breeze.

  But none of this might have made her stand out from other pretty girls he had seen if it wasn’t for her incredible charm.

  She replaced the dress she had been wearing with a t-shirt she had taken from one of the dresser drawers earlier. It was long and baggy. In lieu of the nightshirt she was accustomed to wearing to bed, this would do nicely.

  All at once she froze like a statue—a beautiful statue of a finely sculpted alabaster fairy squatting at the edge of a fountain, Mike thought. All she lacked was the delicate wings.

  After a couple of seconds, without moving her body, she began slowly craning her head around in his direction. She must have had eyes in the back of her head or something.

  At the last moment Mike snapped his head away to stare at the ceiling. If she had seen him do it, it would have been a blur.

  “Were you checking me out?” she asked, suspiciously raising an eyebrow.

  Mike focused on her again, wearing his best manufactured confused expression. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  She didn’t buy it. “You know what I said.”

  He sighed. It took several seconds before he could answer. “Yeah, I was looking. Sorry.”

  Her eyes grew larger. “With everything else going on—at a time like this,” she began, in an almost reprimanding tone of voice, “you were actually checking me out?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I’m... male. Look, I’m sorry. I respect you. It won’t happen again.”

  She held her stern gaze for a few more seconds, then broke into quiet giggling. “Oh, come on. Lighten up, man,” she said. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” She elbowed him once, playfully.

  Again, (something else he didn’t intend to do,) he couldn’t take his eyes off of hers. And the longer her eyes also remained on his, the more her grin was fading. The expression taking over wasn’t anger or anything of the sort. It was more solemn. More vulnerable.

  And he imagined he looked much the same way to her.

  She was the one to finally break the stare. She giggled again, briefly, awkwardly. “You seem like a good man, Mike Runyard,” she said softly.

  Mike blew out a long breath, then turned his head away and focused on the dark ceiling again.

  Keri situated herself under the sheet and lay on her side. She puffed up the pillow beneath her ear. She blew out the candle.

  Darkness.

  There were no noises from outside that they could hear. It may as well have been lifeless. And maybe it was.

  Yet in the darkness and the all-consuming silence, Mike and Keri waited to hear something. Whether that would be good or bad, they didn’t know.

  But there was nothing.

  Maybe we’re the last ones left, Keri thought. King and Queen of apartment B3-13. A republic of two. A nation with no name. A faction with no future.

  “Mike,” she whispered at last. “Are you sleeping?”

  “The evidence suggests no.”

  She ignored his lighthearted sarcasm. “I just want you to know that I promise to stick by you for as long as we reasonably can, okay? You can trust me, and I can trust you.”

  “You and me against the world, you mean?” Mike asked rhetorically, smiling a little. “Then I’m in.”

  “Good.”

  A minute passed.

  “You don’t snore or anything, do you?”

  “Don’t know,” he replied. “I’m always sleeping when it happens.”

  “Oh, and you’re funny, too.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ten minutes until midnight

  Texas State Capitol

  Fireteam Arnold secured their gear and prepared to bug-out. Simply walking out the front gates and down Congress was their plan. By hiding in plain sight they would blend in with all other base activity going about their business. And once they crossed the bridge they would potentially be out of sight.

  The base was abuzz with activity, but not as much as the previous morning. Their departure would not be noticed until at least 0600 unless a gatekeeper got suspicious. But Sgt. Arnold knew most gatekeepers were E-1’s and had to think twice before harassing a superior about authorization to leave the premises.

  Sgt. Arnold exited their tent, followed by Specialists Knight and Noble. They began marching in the direction of the capitol gate, walking with a purpose—walking as if they had every right and had been given every order and permission.

  However, Sgt. Arnold wasn’t wholly surprised when Sgt. Nickson stepped into their path.

  “Arnold,” he said, almost gritting, as if he despised even the very name itself. “With
his charges, Larry and Curly.”

  Sgt. Arnold motioned to Knight and Noble to just keep walking, and the three of them passed Sgt. Nickson as if he didn’t exist.

  It was worth a try, anyway.

  “I’m curious where you’re heading, Arnold,” Nickson blurted, shuffling his feet to keep pace. “This after-lights-out excursion of yours.”

  Sgt. Arnold couldn’t keep silent now. “Excursion, Nickson?”

  “The only thing going on in camp after lights-out is gruntwork. And you and your team aren’t grunts. So what kind of quote-unquote top secret fieldwork did you have to stick your brown nose up Captain Barrigan’s ass to get?”

  “What’s the matter, Nickson? Are you going to resort to petty jealousy because you’ve been given a lesser task? Our orders aren’t yours, and you haven’t been cleared to be briefed on them.”

  Sgt. Nickson audibly growled.

  “I’ve been lined up for a promotion, Nickson,” Arnold said, grinning widely. The bluff didn’t feel good because it wasn’t true, obviously, but boy if it was! He would have loved to be able to stick the knife in a little deeper. “When we return from this op, I’m probably going to be your boss-man. Get your shovel ready for latrine duty. I’m going to have you burning the shit in the port-o-potties for a month. Before you can say ‘Gulf War Syndrome’, you’ll be claiming article eleven just to get discharged. Now, if you’ll excuse us...”

  Hell, that still felt pretty good.

  Sgt. Nickson froze in his tracks as if he were wearing concrete shoes. He watched as Fireteam Arnold marched to the capitol gates by the new perimeter, freely passing military vehicles and other personnel.

  Sgt. Arnold was still grinning when his team reached the gate. He had told them to keep moving unless a gatekeeper directly intervened.

  And one did.

  “Sgt. Arnold, under command of Cpt. Barrigan,” Arnold told him in his best authoritative voice. “Have orders to do reconnaissance further down Congress to determine the capacity of exterior threats.”