by Darrell Bain
He wandered painfully around the area of the ambush, knowing what he was looking for and hoping that he wouldn't find it. He did, though. Bucks lay almost beside the convict he had killed. His eyes were open and staring up at the sky he had worked beneath, but there was no life left in them. McMasters reached down and gently pulled his lids closed. He eased the pack from beneath him, took it and resumed his hobbling search. A few feet away, he found Bucks’ shotgun. Both barrels had been discharged. He wondered if he had hit another of the cons, but found no signs that he had. He mused, thinking that Bucks deserved burial, but he just didn't see any way to arrange it. It was going to be difficult enough as it was to trail the convicts and the girls, and he needed to get started. He picked up the shotgun and began hobbling off when a familiar noise startled him.
The snicker was like a childhood memory come to life. He turned. Not fifty feet away the horse snickered again, just as glad as he was to encounter a partner from times past. McMasters prayed briefly that the animal would come to him.
“Here, boy. Come here,” he called softly. The horse shook its head in reply. It was saddled and still trailing reins. He wondered who had been riding at night, and how they had come to lose the horse. Well, it really didn't matter, but as he limped up to the horse and began stroking its neck, he thought that his philosophy was confirmed. Things usually evened out. Now he could travel as well or better than the convicts. He put a foot into the stirrup and swung aboard. Some sons of bitches were going to be sorry!
Just as he was ready to kick the horse into action, a cry stopped him.
“Mr. McMasters! Wait for me!” He turned toward the sound, squinting into the sun. Judy, Doris’ daughter, emerged from the underbrush. She ran toward him, hair streaming behind her. The running girl startled the horse and he had to pull on the reins to control it.
“Judy! How did you manage to get away?"
Judy clutched at his leg and looked up at him, as if he might ride away without her. Her pretty young face was tear-streaked. “When mother heard the first shot, she told me to run. She was following, but she tripped. I hid and waited until everyone was gone."
“Did anyone else get away?"
“I don't think so. Mr. McMasters, you won't leave me, will you?” She held his leg in a death grip.
McMasters reached down and stroked her shoulder. “Call me Cecil, Judy. No, of course I won't leave you. Can you pull yourself up behind me? Careful of my leg. I've been hit."
“Oh. I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"
“I'll manage. Come on, now. Get up here and let's go. All this blood will be attracting varmints."
Judy climbed up behind him and put both arms around his waist. She averted her eyes from Bucks’ body, but managed to ask, “Aren't we going to bury him?"
“I don't think we can wait,” McMasters told her gently. “We need to go after your friends and your mother. Here, can you carry this shotgun?"
“I guess so. Is it loaded?"
McMasters smiled wryly to himself. Advice from a child, which he should have thought of. “No, thanks for reminding me. Look over my shoulder and see how I do it.” He inserted a shell into each chamber then handed her the weapon. “See the safety here? All you have to do is move it, and it's ready to fire. If you have to use it, just pull one trigger at a time, and be sure and hold it back against your shoulder when you shoot. It has quite a kick."
“I'll remember. Do you ... do you think we can rescue Mother? And the other girls?” Judy's voice trembled like the fluttering wings of a small sick bird.
“I don't know, but we're certainly going to try. And—Judy, I'm hurt. If we get any chance at all, you might have to help. Do you think you can shoot a man if you have to?"
“I don't know. I'll try, though, if you say I have to. What do you think those men are going to do with mother and the other girls?"
McMasters hesitated, then decided to be honest. “I imagine there will be rape at the very least. Maybe worse. The convicts at Huntsville were all hard-core criminals. They don't have much respect for women, the law or anything else for that matter. If we can't get them loose, it could be very bad. You understand?"
“I guess so. I wish we were back home."
“I do, too, hon, but wishes won't help. Are you ready?"
“I'm ready,” Judy said. She put one arm around his waist and held the shotgun with the other. The trembling was gone from her voice. McMasters thought she sounded much better now that he had explained, even though he knew she must be sick with fear. She did sound determined, though, and with the horse and newly armed, he thought there might be a bare chance of rescue. He kicked the horse with his good leg, and they moved out, heading southeast now, back in the direction of Huntsville. After a time he became aware of Judy's breasts pressing into his back, nipples erect from rubbing against him as the horse cantered along. He tried to avoid thinking about it, but after a time he relaxed and simply enjoyed the sensation. It had been a long time since he had been so close to a woman and besides, it helped take his mind off his wounded leg.
* * * *
“That must be the Trinity River,” Michael said. He looked out over the current, wondering how they could cross. He wasn't really familiar with the river, but it didn't seem to be that much of an obstacle, and it wasn't. Using rope he had brought along, he and Wanda managed to secure two downed trees together to make a makeshift raft. Sitting on the trunks with their legs trailing in the water, he and Wanda used saplings to pole their way to midstream, and then turned them into paddles when the depth dropped off. They drifted a hundred yards or so downstream before the bottom could again be reached, then poled the makeshift raft to the opposite shore. There, it took a half-hour struggle through muddy, bottom-brushed terrain to regain higher ground. They were startled once, just after reaching shore, by a huge alligator off to the side plopping into the shallows.
Wanda shivered and hugged herself. “I'm glad we didn't see one of those things before we started; otherwise, I don't think you could have gotten me into the river."
“Me, either. I should have thought of it,” Michael admitted. “We all need to remember from now on. This is not the East Texas we knew a week ago."
A few miles farther south, and an hour or so before dusk, Michael called a halt. “We'd better start thinking about camping for the night. I was hoping we could make it to where Livingston is—or used to be—today, but we can't. It will be dark soon."
Wanda agreed, following his lead. She was surprised at herself for letting Michael make the decision, but somehow, it seemed right. She remembered a disaster novel she had read once, about a comet hitting the earth, and an observation the author had made: "Milliseconds after impact, women's lib, as a working philosophy, was as dead as the Roman Empire." She wasn't quite ready to bury it that deep yet, but she knew with certainty that unless the world returned to normal, women would never again in her lifetime enjoy the freedom that a technological civilization had given them. She thought of the birth control implant she carried. It was due to be replaced and might already be ineffective. So, she thought, it's a matter of either being careful or having a baby. Or sticking to women, but somehow she didn't think of that as a viable alternative right now. She wanted to find out more of what Michael was made of and there was one good way to accomplish that.
Sheila was an observant girl. She had seen how Michael had gradually become the dominant person of their trio, especially after the storm. At first she had been scared of him, fearing retribution for killing Dawson, but he had hardly mentioned it, and then only in reference to other matters, and gradually she began accepting his leadership as easily as Wanda's. She found herself wondering where Derek was now and whether he missed her. Probably not that much, she thought. He was as self-centered as most other high school boys. Probably he had already found another girlfriend. Surprisingly, she discovered that she felt no sadness at the thought, but rather a sense of release, as if she were giving up her girlhood and fully entering the adult
world. While the camp was being prepared, she observed Michael when she thought he wasn't looking. She liked his quiet competence, free of the braggadocio she was used to from young males—Derek in particular. And he was nice looking, even with his stubbly beard. Would he think she was too young? Or did he think of her in that way at all? Probably not, so long as Wanda was around. Well, maybe they would find other people soon. Even if they did, though, she doubted if there would be another man as attractive and competent as Michael. Oh, golly, I wish I were older. I wish he would look at me the way he does Wanda. The last thought caused her to blush. She was glad it was getting too dark for the others to notice. She wouldn't know how to explain. It never entered her mind that Wanda had been observing her from time to time in much the same way she had been looking at Michael.
They built a roaring bonfire that night. It was smoky because of the wet wood, but that did cut down on the mosquitoes. They ate a meager meal, and then stretched the tarp out with the blankets on top. Sheila volunteered for a watch, and sat two hours, her little rifle clutched fiercely in her hands. She woke Michael sometime after midnight and snuggled in beside Wanda, taking warmth from her presence, but making the other woman distinctly aware of her young body.
* * * *
The gang of a dozen or so convicts who had headed east from Huntsville also crossed the Trinity, using several rafts to accomplish it. On the other side, they worked their way eastward again. Late in the evening, they surrounded a forlorn family consisting of a man and his wife and two young children and took them prisoners. The family had been caught traveling at night in their car, and had waited forlornly for rescue, never imagining the method it would take when it finally came. The man and the woman were tied together; they shuddered wakefully throughout the night, listening in horror to the rude laughter and quarrels of the convicts. Fortunately, the man held his peace as they were inspected and questioned. Neither he nor his wife were harmed at first, other than being frightened almost out of their wits by offhand references to slaves being held in Huntsville. The family was black.
It was a different story in the morning after the quarrelsome convicts had settled their differences, or at least after one faction became dominant. The woman was untied and separated from her husband, then led a little way off into the woods. The ensuing cries and sounds of his wife being beaten into submission almost drove the man mad, but there was nothing at all he could do. He didn't even notice that some of the men held back from participation in the rape, looking guiltily around at everything except each other and their captive.
The next day, the outskirts of the displaced area of Livingston suddenly came into view. The convicts drew back into concealment and began arguing. One contingent wanted to attack; they could see groups of people wandering about and moving in and out of the stores, and they were mostly female and unarmed. The four men loyal to Jason wanted to simply return and report—there were armed men about, though very few of them, but that wasn't the problem. They simply had no real desire for a battle with refugees who were no better off than they were. Burley's men won the debate, and that afternoon, they began their move.
The battle was quick, fierce and decisive. Four convicts died, but surprise carried the day for them. Most of the visible men of the town died in the first volley of shots; those remaining were quickly routed. Some few escaped into the woods or went into hiding wherever they could find concealment when it became plain that the attacking force was gunning down every man in sight with no hint of mercy or compassion. A few stood their ground and died trying to protect the women, who were almost all unarmed.
The convicts roped their prisoners together in a string that resembled nothing so much as a coffle of slaves from the previous century. Then they began exploring their conquered domain. The convicts were delighted. In the huge Wal-Mart superstore was wealth for the taking, far beyond the limited goods available in Huntsville. They ate and drank merrily all day, then at night separated out the women from the roped together prisoners and forced them into various alcoves of the massive store. There was little sleeping done before daybreak, unless alcoholic stupor could be counted as slumber.
The convicts moved out the next morning, anxious to bring the good news back to Burley. As far as they were concerned, their mission was accomplished, and had been successful beyond their wildest dreams.
* * * *
The previous evening, Michael, Wanda and Sheila had come upon the remains of the little town of Goodpasture, where Deputy Breedlove was still holding forth. At first, it was like a re-union of graduates returning to their old hometown. Breedlove was so happy to see new faces that he almost entirely forgot that, after all, it was only three new faces in a world almost bereft of humans. He bubbled over with enthusiasm, asking where Michael and Wanda were from, what they had been doing and what they had seen.
Sheila shyly joined the teen-agers and began talking with them, but she kept Wanda and Michael, especially Michael, in sight while she described her adventures, omitting only that one horrible morning from her tale. She wasn't ready to talk to anyone about that yet, and maybe she never would. It had been a nightmare, not an adventure, but the remembrance of it seemed to subtly separate her from the other youngsters the way surviving a tornado right next to where the neighbors had been wiped out would be.
Michael caught Wanda's eye and nodded. She returned the glance, coming back from where she had been talking to Peggy, the home health nurse. Michael drew her and the deputy aside. Breedlove's enthusiastic grin turned into a frown of concentration as soon as he heard about the possibility of convicts loose in the wilds. “Goddamn, nothing but complications,” he said. “Excuse, ma'am, but this situation just gets crazier and crazier."
“There's a pattern to it, though,” Wanda prompted.
“There is?"
“I think I have it figured out,” Michael said. “We found your group on the basis of my calculations. I think there may be another area of displacement somewhere around Livingston. I want to head for there in the morning. However...” He scanned the remains of the little town and liked what he saw. The remaining buildings were old, but they had been well-built, mostly of brick and cement. “This seems to be a good area to keep as a base. There's shelter here, and a good surrounding area that's clear. I don't think we should all go. Sheila...” He looked back and saw her in conversation with the other teenagers. She caught the sound of her name and looked up. “We can leave Sheila here, and one or two men, while the rest of us try for Livingston. Does that make good sense to you?"
Sheila separated herself from the teenagers as soon as she overheard the remark about leaving her behind. She approached Michael and Wanda like a young doe seeking safety on the first day of hunting season. “Don't make me stay here. Please, I want to go with you.” Her eyes pleaded as poignantly as a puppy in a pet store window.
Michael looked to Wanda for guidance, then back to Sheila, noticing for the first time how pretty she was, even with a dirt smudged face and strands of red hair escaping from the band she had secured it with.
Wanda put her arm around the young woman, holding her in a loose embrace. She really didn't want to be separated from her, but neither did she want to expose her to further danger. “Honey, it's not like we're leaving you permanently. We're real close to where Livingston is, or was. We'll be back in a few days. I'll feel a whole lot better knowing you're safe back here. Besides, there's something I want you to do here. See that woman over there?” She pointed to Peggy, who was just now grasping the fact that Goodpasture was only a forlorn remnant of the previous world and that it was unlikely she would ever see her husband and daughter again.
“Yes. Why is she crying?"
“For the same reason you did, sweetheart. She's lost her family, her husband and daughter. She's about to go wild thinking about it and we can't afford that. She's a nurse. We may be needing a nurse before this is over, if it ever is. I want you to stay with her and try to start thinking of the present, not th
e past. There's that little girl she brought in too. That's the first child we've seen. Think how she's feeling now."
“There's another thing,” Michael put in. “Sheila, I don't like to say it, but it's not likely we'll ever get back to normal. We need to start thinking about holding on to such knowledge as we have, like medicine, for instance. Why don't you start talking to Peggy about nursing and see if you're interested?"
Sheila looked up at Michael, longing still written over her face and suddenly Wanda thought she might know what it was. It wasn't something to worry about right at the present, though, even if she were right.
Wanda put an arm around the girl and pulled her close. “I think Michael is right, Sheila. Will you do that? Talk to Peggy about nursing and help her get her mind off her family?"
“If you say so, but, please, come back to me."
“We will,” Wanda said. “Count on it.” She kissed her on the cheek then turned her loose.
“All right, then.” Sheila stepped forward and hugged Michael before thinking, then blushed and hurried away to where Peggy was still staring blankly around at all that was left of the little town.
Breedlove, who had stepped back a few paces while the conversation was going on, now came forward again. He was impressed with the confident young physicist. If he had figured out where other people might be located, and had proved his theories by finding them, he was ready to follow his lead on anything else he might suggest.
“It sounds like a good plan to me,” he said. “By the way, we've most of us been sleeping in the feed store. Something got one of the boys the first day, right inside the tree line, and we haven't tried to go anywhere since. Y'all got here, though, so maybe it isn't as dangerous out there as I thought?” He made the last sentence sound like a question.