* * *
Gabe was on the hill, in the overwatch position at the roadblock with two other men. Paul and Jerry King were down on the road. Gabe was amazed at the simplicity of it. Six large round bales of hay and one truck was all it took to make the roadblock. The bales were placed in alternating lanes, about twenty feet apart so that any car had to zigzag between them. Next to the last bale, Jerry had parked his truck so that it blocked the other lane. The fact that the road was cut through a hill here made going around the roadblock impossible. Anyone coming through had to slow down to about five miles per hour to negotiate the hay. The truck could be moved if the person was to be allowed entrance to the area, or he’d be forced to back up and turn around.
One of the men on top of the hill with Gabe had a bolt-action rifle with a scope and the other had a shotgun. Neither man had brought more than a box of cartridges. Gabe hoped they didn’t need to do any shooting. If they did, they’d probably run out of ammo first. He tried not to think about it.
“So, Gabe, how are the wedding plans coming?” the first man asked.
Gabe was thankful for the distraction. “Pretty good, I guess. Jane is taking care of pretty much everything.”
“Yeah,” the other man agreed, “I pretty much just had to make sure I showed up on time for my wedding. Where are you going to live?”
“We’ve gone back and forth on it, but we’re leaning toward me moving in with her. It’s easier for me to plant a new garden at her place than it is to move all the chicken coops, especially since Jake Solis is going to plow it up for me with his tractor. Until it starts producing, I’ll just go to my old place and work the one there,” Gabe said.
“What are you going to do with your old house?”
“I’ve been thinking about letting the preacher and his family move in there. It’s close to the church and I’d feel better knowing they’re not in town anymore.” Plus, Gabe thought, he’d live here then and I could get him to run the meetings. “He’s coming over tomorrow to loan me a Rototiller, and I’m going to talk to him about it then.”
“That’s a good idea,” the second man said as the first nodded.
The three men made some small talk, but mostly remained quiet as the hours passed. Three cars had come through the roadblock and all had been allowed to enter. Just before their four-hour shift was over, a pickup came barreling up the road. It seemed as if the driver was going to crash into the first bale, but he locked up his brakes and stopped just in time. He carefully weaved his way through the obstacles and stopped when he got to Paul and Jerry. Gabe and the other two pulled their rifles close.
“Why are you stopping me?” the driver said.
“Access to this area is restricted to residents,” Paul said.
Gabe could see that Jerry was on the passenger side of the truck, behind the cab, while Paul was standing next to the front tire on the driver’s side. A right-handed person would have to climb halfway out the window to get a shot at either man. Pretty smart, Gabe thought.
“This is a public road. You can’t block it off,” the man yelled.
“Obviously we can and we have. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you to turn around and leave.”
“Yeah, I do mind. I have to go through here to get where I’m going.”
“I’m sure you can go back to the main highway and find another way to reach your destination. Please turn around,” Paul said sternly.
“No! Move that truck and let me through or I’ll just ram it out of the way.”
Paul and Jerry simultaneously took a few steps back and raised their rifles to the low ready position. They weren’t pointing at the driver, but could be in an instant if necessary. Gabe didn’t know if the two men had talked about when they would take this defensive position, but it sure looked as if they were on the same page.
“We have asked you twice to please turn around in the nicest way possible. If we have to ask again, it won’t be so nice,” Paul said flatly.
“I’m going to tell the police about this,” the man screamed as the truck began to back up. A few seconds later, its taillights disappeared in the distance.
* * *
The going had gotten slow. After he went a ways, the rope would loosen up and the front tire would wobble at any speed over about three miles per hour. DJ had tried to tighten up the knots in the rope, but nothing seemed to help. At least he didn’t have to walk, though, even if this pace was maddening compared to what he was used to.
He stopped for a break and pulled out his map. Maybe three more hours at this pace. He climbed back on and started the monotonous drive.
About an hour later, he had to stop. The road was covered in dirt where it went through the side of a large hill. At first he thought it might be a landslide, but on closer inspection, he realized someone had pushed the dirt off the hillside to block the road. He was annoyed at first, but then he laughed under his breath. This was exactly what he would have done. He began to wonder if his old retreat group was responsible. It was a little far from them, so probably not, but the thought could not be dismissed. Maybe they were still there. How would that go over? Probably not well. In hindsight, it had been unwise to sleep with his best friend’s wife. Well, even if they didn’t want him to stay, they might help him fix his quad and he could dig up his cache.
DJ walked back down to the road. He could ride over the dirt, but it was steeper than he would like, especially with the broken wheel. There was room for the quad to go up the side of the hill. That seemed like a better solution. He eased up the incline, careful not to tangle in the fence. It was very rocky and steering the hobbled mount was hard. When he was almost to the top, the front of the quad dropped. Concerned, DJ stopped the motor and went around to see what had happened. The front wheels had extended themselves as if someone had tried to make a chopper out of the four-wheeler. DJ bent down and saw where the frame had broken. It had probably cracked when he hit the deer, or more likely when the quad had torn off the trailer hitch of the big truck. DJ was too mad to curse. He simply shook his fist at the broken machine.
* * *
Gabe walked home looking at the stars. He didn’t really see them, though. His mind kept wondering what would have happened if the guy had crashed through the roadblock and hurt Paul or Jerry. How could they handle a medical emergency like that? Daniel Easton was a navy corpsman. Gabe would talk to him about setting up a makeshift trauma center and ask at the next meeting if they had any other medical professionals in the neighborhood. Soon Gabe was home and not long after that, he was asleep.
CHAPTER 30
DJ hurriedly packed the old army green backpack, straining his eyes in the low light. He mumbled under his breath as he worked. “Fucking Murphy throws me another curveball and now I gotta fucking walk the rest of the way with my back still fucked-up.” He had thought about camping here for a couple of days, but there were two big problems with that plan. First, he was inside some perimeter that people had taken the trouble to keep others out of. If he was in charge, he would have patrols checking the perimeter on a regular basis. These people might not be doing that, but he couldn’t take the chance. The second and bigger problem was that he hadn’t brought any extra food or his camping stuff. He would just as well get on to his destination.
He lifted the pack up, feeling the weight. “Son of a bitch!” He disgustedly dumped all the contents on the ground in front of him. He began to sort out some of the items as he picked them up one at a time to judge their weight. Once he had gone through everything, he placed the remaining pile back into the rucksack. This time its weight seemed more manageable.
Next, he placed everything left in two large black plastic trash bags, wedged them into some brush that had plenty of spines and stickers, then covered them as best he could with fallen tree limbs and dead leaves. He stood back and looked at his work, carefully shining
his flashlight all the way around the cache, and made some fine adjustments to his coverings. Satisfied that he had done the best job possible without taking the time to bury everything, he pulled on his pack and grabbed his rifle.
Before he had gone a hundred yards, he stopped to fish the painkillers out of his pack.
* * *
The knock on the door woke Gabe out of a deep slumber. He looked at his watch and, for a second, felt guilty for sleeping this late. Then he remembered that he hadn’t gone to bed until after his watch. He rose, pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and answered the door.
It was just getting light in the east, but as soon as he saw her, his world brightened as if the sun had sprinted to its noonday position. He grabbed her to give her a long, passionate kiss, but he saw Robby and decided a quick hug was better in this circumstance.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said, noticing the lines the pillow case had left on his cheek. “Sorry to wake you, but Robby really wanted to go hunting this morning.”
“Sure, I’ll take him,” Gabe said. “Let me go get some boots on.”
“Actually,” she said, “I was wondering if you think he’s experienced enough to go by himself.”
Gabe could see the twinkle in her eye. He played along, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know. He’s done well when we’ve gone together, but hunting by himself is a pretty big step.”
“Please!” Robby said.
“I guess we could let him try. But, young man, you better not be shooting at everything that moves. Remember, if you can’t take a head shot at a rabbit or a squirrel, then wait until you can. We can’t be wasting any meat, or any ammo for that matter.”
“Okay, Mr. Horne. I promise to be careful.”
“Good deal. You run along and don’t come back until you have enough for a couple of meals,” Gabe said with a smile.
“You can count on me,” Robby replied over his shoulder as he sprinted toward the door.
“And what can I do for you, Mrs. Walker?” Gabe said with a wink.
* * *
The sun was just rising as DJ crossed the wooden bridge. His back was still hurting and he was in a foul mood. He walked down to the creek, pulled out his water filter, and filled the water bladder in his pack. While it was open, he took a couple more painkillers. After resting for a few minutes, he resumed his trek.
* * *
The knock on the door made both of them jump like busted teenagers. They smiled at each other over the silliness of their reaction, and Gabe answered the door.
“Hello, Reverend Washington. How are you?” Gabe extended his hand.
“I’m wonderful, brother Gabriel! What a glorious day. Hello, sister Walker. So good to see you.”
“And you, too, Reverend,” Jane said.
“I brought the tiller, and I was wondering if, after we unload it, you could help me with a plumbing problem at the church,” the old minister said.
“I’d be happy to, Reverend, but when it comes to plumbing, I’m a good hog caller,” Gabe replied with a smile.
“Yes, we all have our God-given talents, don’t we? I just need someone to hold the flashlight and hand me tools.”
“Then I’m your man,” Gabe said.
* * *
DJ dropped the pack as if it were an unwanted toy. He carefully sat down and slowly arched his back to stretch out the kinks. It helped a little, but not much. He grabbed a snack out of his pack and ate. Before he closed the rucksack back up, he took another Vicodin. He hoped the old group wasn’t at the retreat. If it was unoccupied, he could stay there until he was better. He looked at his watch. He thought he would have been there by now. Surely it wouldn’t be more than another thirty minutes or so. He hoisted the pack back on and trudged along.
Each step with his right foot caused him to flinch, so he tried to keep the weight more on his left side, but that was uncomfortable, too. He mumbled incoherently, not even really knowing what he was saying, just fuming at his bad luck. As he got closer, the sights became more familiar, but he also took mild note of things that had changed. Finally he made the last turn and set eyes on his property.
It was totally different from what he remembered. Just inside the gate were a number of old stakes and some surveyor’s string where it looked as if someone had planned to pour a foundation for a house. Farther back was an older mobile home, with a storage shed behind it and a garden with varying hues of green. DJ saw that the front door was covered with a sheet of plywood. He cautiously made his way around to the back. A truck and a car were in the driveway, but it was quiet. He climbed the steps and knocked on the door. A trim and neatly dressed middle-aged woman answered.
“Yes, may I help you?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered in a friendly voice, “I was looking for Thomas Akers. Does he still live here?”
“No, I’m afraid he doesn’t,” Jane replied.
“Oh,” DJ said as he turned to look around. His cache was under the edge of the garden. It was a good thing he had buried it so deep, or it would have been found. It would be a bitch to dig up with his injured back. He turned back toward the woman, trying to see if anyone else was in the house. “Do you think there’s anyone here that might know where he went?”
“No, sorry. There’s no one here but me. . . .” Her last word seemed to trail off as if she realized the mistake she’d made.
“I see,” DJ said with a charming smile as he turned toward the steps. “Sorry to trouble you . . .”
The woman seemed to relax a bit.
DJ twisted back around and drew his pistol at the same time. “. . . but I’m going to need your help.”
* * *
“Hand me a regular screwdriver please.”
“Here you go, preacher. I’m glad you asked me to help you because I wanted to talk to you about my house.”
“You need me to work on the plumbing for you?”
Gabe laughed. “No, sir, that’s not what I meant. I am going to be moving in with Jane after the wedding and we wanted to offer you use of my house until things get back to normal.”
The preacher took his eyes off the pipe for the first time since he had crawled down under it. “Are you sure, brother Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“Then I accept,” he said as he rose to the tallest five feet five Gabe had ever seen and held his hand out to his helper. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Reverend Washington,” Gabe said as he shook the man’s hand.
* * *
“I don’t have all day, bitch. Dig!” DJ said almost jovially as he gestured at the ground with his pistol. He took another bite of the fresh-picked tomato from one of the plants she’d had to displace to dig up his cache. She had made it down about two feet, the distance the ground was soft from the tilling of the garden. Now it was hard and she was clumsily hacking at the ground with the shovel. Well, thought DJ, better than doing it myself, even if my back doesn’t hurt anymore.
* * *
Gabe and the preacher turned up the driveway to Gabe’s house. He saw Jane working in the garden. He would have wondered what she was doing if he had not been so enamored at the sight of her. She was one of the two most beautiful women he had ever beheld. But why was she hoeing an area that he had worked on yesterday? Surely the weeds had not grown up overnight. And that wasn’t a hoe she was using; it was a shovel. Then Gabe saw him and the pistol he had trained in Jane’s direction. Gabe drew his revolver from the leather holster and ran toward the garden.
* * *
DJ heard footsteps behind him and turned to see a scarecrow of a man running toward him. He almost laughed, wondering if the tin man and the lion were coming right behind him. He looked, but there was only an old black man trying to keep up with the scarecrow. Then DJ saw the revolver. That was
no laughing matter. He came to his feet and planted them shoulder width, pointing directly at the charging man. DJ raised his pistol and found the front sight. It was the most focused point in his vision, covering the middle of the man whose revolver was now leveled in his direction. He felt his finger first touch the trigger, and then take the slack out of it as he had done thousands of times before in both dry and live practice. The black gun barked once, and when the front sight came back down to superimpose itself over the man, it fired again. The man fell face-first onto the ground. DJ was mildly aware that the man had fired his gun between his first and second shots, but he had missed.
* * *
Gabe could see nothing but the dirt underneath him. It was hard to breathe and a searing pain in his chest rivaled the one from when the state troopers had come to his house on the night Hannah and Michael had died. Suddenly Jane was there and he was looking up at her. She was still beautiful even with her face twisted up in fear and her eyes filled up with tears. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, but the only words that would come out were “I love you.”
* * *
DJ was surprised that the woman could move that fast. He walked over to look at the scarecrow. The revolver was lying about five feet from him and DJ bent over to pick it up. The old black man was standing behind the woman, his eyes as big as baseballs, and his mouth was moving but hardly a sound came out. The two shots had found their mark and were merely inches apart. The ground underneath him was turning into a lake of blood. Not bad shooting on a moving target, DJ thought. He stuck the revolver into his waistband and had just opened his mouth to tell the woman to get back to digging when he heard the pop. It sounded like a firecracker and must have gone off close to his right eye, because it stung.
Devlin Frost didn’t understand why he was looking at the sky. It was obvious he was lying down, but he couldn’t get his arms or legs to do what he wanted. He felt something warm on his face. His mind both raced for an explanation and ordered his body to rise, but neither was happening. His vision was narrowing, perhaps from the sticky goo he felt in his right eye. Just before it went completely dark, he saw a young teenage boy looking down on him with hate in his eyes and a small rifle in his hands.
Collision Course Page 27