Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star

by Nobody, Joe

  Bishop’s expression flashed respect for Terri’s words, but he was still skeptical. “I’ve never been keen on politics. Never understood most of it. I’ll go with what you think is best. But if you change your mind, I’m willing to turn this truck around and head home. I’ll gladly face the music.”

  Terri smiled, but it wasn’t bright. While her husband’s use of the phrase ‘home,’ had reminded her of the hope they shared to return one day, she was still troubled by circumstances out of their control. After all, this was the second time they had abandoned their residence just to survive. Now, they had no choice, but to place their faith in the hands of people they trusted and God. That was the best option, and she prayed they wouldn’t encounter anything that changed that.

  With a belly full of warm food, Bishop found himself getting sloppy with his diligence. He needed sleep and was frustrated by the lack of a suitable spot to set up the camper. The sun will be cresting soon – maybe it will be easier to find some place in the daylight, he reasoned.

  They were within a mile of interstate I-40, and he convinced himself that the interchange would be one of those remote exits that didn’t house any gas stations, shops, or stores. No need to stop and scout ahead, his tired mind justified. Maybe there will be a lane or abandoned restaurant we can hide behind.

  It was purely by chance that he recognized the outline of the truck stop’s sign against the background of the still-dark sky. The presence of even the most innocent remnants of civilization caused him to let off the accelerator and begin coasting. When the headlights illuminated a slight discoloration in the road, he hit the brakes. It probably saved their lives.

  The front wheels became airborne as they cleared the edge of the ditch, gravity quickly pulling them down. Two feet behind the front wheels, the frame grounded with a horrible noise and forced an abrupt stop. Both Terri and he were slung forward from the motion, their bodies now straining against the seatbelts. The unsecured contents of the cab flew forward, a box of supplies hitting Bishop in the back of the head just as his skull was rebounding off the steering wheel.

  The camper jackknifed, the hitch unable to deal with the unbridled forward momentum. Twisting on its A-frame, the front edge of the trailer slammed into the truck’s bumper, snapping the ball and joint connection with a loud crack and finally coming to rest on its side.

  Hunter screamed at the same time Terri’s shout of “Shit!” echoed through the cab. She could only see dirt and part of the drainpipe through the front windshield, the downward angle of the truck keeping her pinned against her belt.

  Hunter was her first thought, her hands seeking the infant’s body in the dark cab. Fighting down the terror that was welling inside, she suppressed the urge to immediately release her baby’s restraints. The child was upset, but seemed secure in his car seat. Then her thoughts turned to Bishop.

  He was slumped over the steering wheel, the glow of dash lights making his posture seem twisted. He wasn’t moving. “Bishop!” she shouted, louder than intended. “Bishop, are you okay?”

  He groaned, moving his head slightly and then stopping. “What the fuck…,” he whispered and then tried to move again. “Give me a minute…. Is Hunter okay…? Are you okay? Why is he screaming…?”

  “I think we’re fine back here. Tell me what you feel.”

  It all started rushing back into his stunned brain. The discoloration of the road. A tarp across the ditch? The signpost in the sky. A trap!

  “Terri… hurry… someone set a trap. Get your rifle and get out. I can’t move just yet… dizzy… don’t let them get close to the truck or we’re screwed,” he managed.

  She didn’t comprehend at first, unsure of what he was talking about and unclear if she had heard him correctly over Hunter’s vehement protests. She couldn’t get her seatbelt buckle to open. Something was wrong. Her shoulder was throbbing, and her leg was bleeding. She had to get Hunter free of his seat and comfort him. She had to take care of Bishop. She was confused, in pain, and scared to death.

  Cole was up, preparing to venture into the desert and gather fuel for the campfires before the sun made such a chore dangerous. He almost didn’t recognize the sound of the engine, but the crash made it all clear – someone had driven right into the drain-trap.

  Months of malnutrition had reduced his middle-aged physique, anything beyond a good hustle outside his capabilities. But he moved as quickly as possible, out the opening and toward the south side of the overpass.

  Most of the condo’s residents were awake as well, two of the drivers and a cook meeting him below the apex of the bridge. The other men had pistols.

  “Did you hear that?” one of the drivers asked.

  “Sure did,” replied Cole.

  “Raiders!” added one of the cooks, no one sure if he was excited or scared.

  “Keep them away from the condos,” Cole ordered. “All we have left is there.”

  The four men moved out, each doing his best to suppress his own specific fear. Cole was worried about his ammo – down to less than ten rounds. The cook had been grazed the last time, infection taking hold and almost killing the man. A bottle of antibiotics from someone’s glove box had saved his life. He wouldn’t get a second chance.

  Another driver offered, “Maybe they’ve got something to eat besides buzzard meat. Maybe they’ve got enough fuel for us to get out of here.”

  “We’ll see,” Cole responded, skeptical good fortune was going to befall them after so many months of hardship.

  Terri happened a glance out the windshield, somewhat distant movement catching her eye. She could see them coming. Despite the downward angle of the headlights, enough illumination still made it to the road beyond for her to detect shadowy figures moving along the pavement. Bishop’s words finally made it through her fog of confusion.

  “Bishop… Bishop… men are coming,” she whispered, as if a louder voice would warn him somehow. He didn’t respond.

  How she managed to unhook the seat belt she wouldn’t remember. Ignoring Hunter’s pleas was even more difficult. “Keep them away from the truck,” she repeated in a rushed whisper, “keep them away from the truck.”

  She found the AR and then the door handle. Had Bishop switched off the dome lights? Would they see her? She chanced a glance again. They were still coming, getting closer.

  Patting around in the dark for her spare magazines, she watched their gait grow wary as the distance narrowed. She found a magazine and then the door handle. She blew Hunter a kiss and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”

  Terri stepped onto the running board, thankful the dome light hadn’t come on. Without taking her eyes off the approaching men, she tried to quietly step down… and tumbled… hard.

  The combination of the truck’s height and her injured leg caused her to hit the pavement with a vengeance. If the fall hadn’t knocked the air from her lungs, she would have surely shrieked out in pain.

  Just then, there were legs and boots on Bishop’s side of the truck. She heard other footsteps coming from behind. She rolled under the vehicle, quietly sliding back behind the suspended rear wheels.

  “Is that a baby crying?” someone asked. “I hear a baby.”

  “Sure is,” replied another. “The driver ain’t moving. I think he’s dead or out cold.”

  “Be careful, he might be playing ‘possum.”

  Terri could see four pairs of legs, their image growing clearer as the sun approached the eastern horizon.

  One of them moved to the back of the pickup and tried the door to the camper shell. “Reach in there and get those keys. This gate is locked, and I want to see what’s in there.”

  She heard someone try the driver’s door handle, but it was locked. “Bust out the window,” someone said.

  Visions of flying glass filled Terri’s mind, the shower finding Hunter’s eyes. She could hear him crying, and the energy of a protective mother filled her core. With shaking hands and weak legs, she rolled from under the pickup and lev
eled her AR at the nearest man. “I wouldn’t touch that truck if I were you.” The audible click of the AR’s safety accented the warning.

  The woman’s appearance started Cole. He cursed himself for not having someone check that side of the truck. “Now hold on a second, lady. We don’t mean you no harm.”

  “Then move away from the truck,” she ordered, adjusting her position so she could cover all four of them.

  “Okay… okay now… just settle down,” one of the cooks replied.

  Terri could see it in his eyes before he raised the pistol. She didn’t know how or why, but her instincts moved the AR toward his chest just as his arms leveled the handgun. She pulled the trigger. And again. And again.

  At point blank range, the 5.56 NATO rounds were traveling over 3400 feet per second. Small in diameter and traveling at such velocity, the first two bullets tore through the man’s body as if it were carbon paper. The third hit a rib.

  The bullet’s tail weighed more than the pointed tip, which was slowed considerably by impacting the bone. The laws of momentum demanded the now-faster moving tail go somewhere. The projectile tumbled, shredding flesh, bone and organs as it traveled an erratic path through the victim’s torso. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Cole was startled, but for just a moment. Recovering from the shock of violence, he ducked low and threw his body at the driver’s side door for cover. Both of the other drivers decided to follow suit, moving out of Terri’s line of fire.

  “Move away from the fucking truck!” she screamed. “Get away from my baby!”

  “Now hold on a damn minute, lady,” Cole yelled. “We didn’t start this shit.”

  Cole reached and tugged on the nearest man’s sleeve. “I’m going to keep talking to her. You circle around the front, and when I give the signal, let’s both raise up and…”

  Something cold touched Cole’s ear. At the same moment, the eyes of the man he was talking to grew wide with fear. Slowly turning his head just a bit, Cole peered into the barrel of a pistol. His gaze then followed the arm holding the weapon, eventually focusing on the bloody face of the driver looking out the now-open window.

  “Nobody is going anywhere. Put the guns down, gentlemen, or I’ll split your head in half,” Bishop warned.

  “Shit,” mumbled Cole, laying the rifle down on the ground, motioning for the other two men to do the same.

  “Move away from the truck… slow like… I’m awful nervous, and this .45 has a hair trigger.”

  The three men stood slowly with their hands in the air, terrified eyes glancing between Terri and Bishop. When they had backed off, Bishop called out, “Terri, come around to this side. Their weapons are on the ground. I don’t know if I can get out yet.”

  His wife appeared next to the window, covering Cole and his men with her weapon. She gasped when she glanced up at her husband. “Bishop! You’re covered in blood!”

  “I know. I cut my head on the steering wheel, but I don’t think it’s that bad. Get those guys further away and help me out. Then you can check Hunter.”

  Fury consumed Terri’s expression when she turned back to face Cole and his party. “You sons of bitches… you damn near killed my husband and child. I ought to plug your worthless carcasses right now. Move over there, and lie face down. Please… please give me any excuse to shoot you. Now move!”

  And they did.

  Five minutes later, Bishop perched on wobbly legs, leaning against the truck with a towel wrapped around his head. Terri was cradling Hunter, her soothing voice settling the child down.

  “Mister,” Cole said from the ground. “We weren’t going to kill anybody. We built that trap because people were raiding us. They’ve killed and kidnapped our people since everything went to hell. Anything we did manage to gather, seems like someone came along and took it. You can shoot us if you want, but there’s 20 odd people living under that bridge that depend on us men.”

  “And so what? I should believe a bunch of guys who tried to shoot my wife?”

  Cole blinked, his voice becoming apologetic. “I don’t know what that man was thinking. I don’t know what he intended. I’ve never known him to shoot anyone before… maybe he was trying to scare the woman.”

  Bishop grunted, looking over at the dead man. “Didn’t work out too well, did it?”

  “He got what he deserved for being stupid. These days, dumb equals dead. But you’re busted up, and your wife don’t look much better. If you don’t get those wounds cleaned soon, infection will take you just the same as any bullet. I give you my word, mister, we mean you no harm.”

  Something in the man’s voice caused Bishop to believe the statement. “Okay, pal. Go ahead and stand up. Do anything dumb, and we’ll prove your theory about dead.”

  Cole stood, dusting the sand and grit off his clothing. After he’d helped his two companions to stand, he turned to Bishop and said, “We live under that overpass. If you want our help with anything, which I doubt, come on down and ask for Cole. We don’t have anything to eat, but I can get you out of the sun for a bit. Maybe we can talk like reasonable people. That would be nice for a change.”

  Cole nodded at one of his friends, and then two men headed to the dead cook. Each man taking an armpit, they lifted the corpse. And with that, the three remaining bridge-men turned, shuffling off toward the interstate, dragging along their lifeless cargo.

  Terri cleared her throat, standing with her hands on her hips. “And how do you know they aren’t going back to regroup and come back with a little overpass militia?”

  Bishop smiled, “I guess I don’t know for sure, but did you check them out? They’re bone thin, filthy, and have glazed over eyes. Look at their weapons – rusty junk. Their leader had eight rounds for that deer blaster. Eight. My threat receptacles weren’t exactly screaming any alarms; that’s for sure.”

  After applying wraps, antibiotic cream and a few butterfly bandages, the couple set about inspecting the truck, camper, and their belongings. The prognosis wasn’t good. “We’re fucked,” Bishop summed it up.

  “Bishop! The baby,” Terri tried to tease, nodding toward the sleeping Hunter and trying to lighten the mood. The good-hearted ribbing fell flat.

  “I don’t think the truck is damaged so badly it’s not drivable. I don’t see any fluids leaking, but that’s all beside the point. With the back wheels two feet off the ground, it might as well be totaled.”

  Terri nodded, “And the camper?”

  Bishop strolled around their home to inspect the damage, kneeling here and poking there. “I would guess it’s okay too, but again, lying on its side makes it near worthless. The hitch is ruined. I’m not sure how we would pull it even if we were mobile.”

  Terri shook her head, “All the gunfire, snipers, roadblocks and other shit we’ve driven through… and a ditch takes us out, just like that.”

  “Terri! The baby,” Bishop hissed, trying to keep the smile off his face.

  Terri ignored him. “Well, it’s true. And Cole was right; the sun is going to bake us alive before long.”

  “I’ve got a tent in the bed somewhere. It’s a small emergency deal, but it might help.”

  “A tent? Might as well be an oven.”

  Bishop spread his hands in frustration. “We can run the truck and use the air conditioning. I know it’s uncomfortable to sit given the angle and all, but it will keep us from sunstroke for a while.”

  “Until the gas runs out.”

  He could tell Terri was getting frustrated, and he didn’t blame her. Things weren’t looking good. He decided to go the upbeat route. Attitude was everything during a crisis. “Maybe I can figure out a way to get the truck out. A winch, or homemade block and tackle... or something. My head is throbbing right now, but I’ll think of a way. Worst case, I’ll dig it out.”

  “And the camper?”

  He pointed toward the trailer and continued, “If I get the truck free, I can probably pull it back upright. We’ll be able to better judge the
damage then. Who knows? We might get lucky.”

  They hugged, the embrace improving both of their moods. Terri brightened, “At least we’re okay and have each other. That’s all that really matters. Like I keep saying, as long as we’re together.”

  “It could have been a lot worse – that’s for sure.”

  Terri nuzzled her head into his shoulder, and then he felt her sobbing. He held her tight, letting whatever was causing the release work its way out. After a bit, she lifted her head and peeked up with red, wet eyes. “And the worst part is,” she sobbed, “I killed a man today. Does dealing with that ever get any easier?”

  “No,” he replied, pulling her head back into his shoulder, wishing he could lie.

  Chapter 4

  Alpha, Texas

  July 24

  Nick pulled off his boot, rubbing the bottom of his foot and grimacing deeply. Since the US Army had attacked Midland Station, he’d been in the field constantly for the last 48 hours.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” he grumbled to Diana.

  She didn’t look much better, he noted. The dark circles under her eyes were one obvious sign, her hunched posture indicative of one very tired government servant.

  Looking up from her computer screen, she managed a smile and nod. “I hear ya, big man. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired. I miss Terri.”

  “You miss Terri?” he protested. “Bishop was my right hand man. Deke and he were the only guys available who understood what the hell was going on. Now both of them are gone. I need Bishop back. I need his help with the workload.”

  Diana folded the laptop’s cover, the loss of light darkening her office even further. She rose from her desk and moved to sit beside Nick.

  “Tell the truth,” she began, brushing a hand through his hair. “You miss Bishop, just as much as I miss Terri. It’s okay to drop your man-shield and admit it.”