by Joel Shaw
Amber nodded. "I have no idea what you just said."
Duane smiled. “All of that, what I just said, isn't so important. What is, is having some idea of what you are getting yourself into if you intend to travel alone. I’m talking about risk now. I don’t know if you are aware of it, but traveling without a permit is illegal. That’s OK, though. Plenty of people are out there traveling without a permit. The trick is not to get caught. You’ll only get caught if you can be tracked.”
“How can I be tracked. Look at this”, she bared a portion of her hip, displaying another small scar where her chip used to be. “I’m not carrying the chip anymore.”
“I know, I scanned you, but there are other ways of tracking a person. I’ll try to explain then in simple terms.”
“Every time you use your Federal Identification Card, Water Rationing Card or your Food Rationing Card, the location is recorded and the time is recorded. The information is stored in what is called a database. So, let's say for instance that you used your ID card to get into this dehydration center, which you did, right?”
“Right.” Amber nodded.
“Right, so that data is stored indicates that you entered the St. Francis dehydration center in Tyler, Texas at 3 pm. It follows, then, that if you use your card to get in, you have to use it to get out, so the time you exited will be entered in the database also. If anyone is looking for you, they will simply enter your name in the database and the information stored in the database will tell them that you are here. That will give them a starting point. Are you beginning to understand why I emphasize the need for anonymity?
“I guess so,” Amber said. “I don’t think anyone would be looking for me...”
“Right now...probably not. Once you are on the road, everything changes. First of all, you will attract attention because you are female and alone. Secondly you don’t have authorization to travel, that means, if you are discovered and captured you will be at the mercy of your captor/s. It is obvious at first glance that you have no training and no experience out there.” Jordan made a sweeping three-hundred-sixty degree motion with his arm.
“Thirdly you have no experience or training in self-defense and survival. A Ranger would eat you for lunch.”
“What’s a Ranger?”
“Rangers are men and women working for Homeland Security who’s mission is to capture and detain Walkers. That’s you, you are a Walker. Ranger’s use a variety of methods of transportation that aren’t available to you or I.”
“You are scaring me, now. How am I going to avoid the Rangers?”
“You can’t avoid them. Chances are good that you will cross paths with one or two, maybe more. You have to mentally prepared and have a plan. The secret is to catch them off guard. They won’t expect much of a fight from a female Walker. Remember the Tazer?”
Amber nodded.
“Shoot the Ranger with the Tazer.”
“What do you mean? If I’m approached by one of these Ranger guys, I shouldn’t talk to them...just shoot them? That’s not very nice.”
Duane emphasized his answer with exaggerated nods of his head. “That’s exactly what you should do. The get paid a bonus for bringing live females to Judgement. Always, and I mean ALWAYS keep an eye on your surroundings. Every once in a while pull off the road and study the road behind you. Look for anything following you. Don’t forget that, OK?”
Amber didn’t care to hear anymore about the Rangers. “ OK, so tell me...what happened to the redneck?”
“What’s that?”
“You...you were a redneck yesterday. Today you are...”
Jordan laughed, “Oh...that...I put on the redneck act to protect myself. I do it to blend in to the Texas demographic, but I’ve looked kind of...well...weird since birth. I use it to my advantage. People see me and expect me to be uneducated and perverted. I act the part.”
Amber smiled, “You are a good actor.”
Jordan laughed loudly, “I suppose so...”
“What do you do here? I mean, what’s with all this stuff you have in here?”
“One of my jobs at this facility is to dispose of the effects of those who’ve passed. I’m supposed to sort it and recycle it, but I hang on to stuff that I think might be useful. I love old school technology; it’s more reliable than all the Chinese nano this and nano that bullshit and it’s not readily available. I can boot up some of the old systems without risk of being tracked.”
“So were do I fit in? Why are you spending so much time with me?”
“I’m helping you because you have something I can use to help someone else.”
“Ohh...what might that be?”
“Your mom’s water ration card.”
“Ohh, but...”
Jordan cut her off with a wave of the hand. “I know you have her card, OK?”
Amber nodded resigning herself to the fact as she clutched the worn card in her pocket.
“Federal Water Ration cards are brought through the doors of this facility every day, in pockets, purses, wallets, shoes. People cling to them because they represent life. Unfortunately most of them are sold to one of the scalpers near the front gate. I might get ten cards for every thousand people that come in here. I scan the card to see if the emergency ration has been used, if it has, I destroy the card. If not, I do a little tweaking to the card and save it. Someone special like you comes along, I pass the card along, anonymously. I’ll slip it into their gear when they aren’t looking along with a note explaining how to use it. No big deal. I do what I can.”
“I have a question for you Du...Jordan? Why are you helping me? I’m not special. You don’t know me.” Amber paused, unsure. If this man was setting her up for something, he had done a very good job. She was at fault, she had dropped her guard long ago and was now in a situation that, if it got ugly, she would likely not be able to extract herself. She couldn’t shake the thought, maybe he was one of those Rangers...
Jordan noticed as the young woman’s eyes narrowed, her body stiffened. She didn’t yet trust him. He hoped what he had to say next would establish a common bond.
“This will sound odd to you I’m sure, but the fact is I do know you...in a way. You remind me of my sister who disappeared several years ago. She was the only other surviving member of my family. Anyway, my sister and I had brought our mother and father to this facility when it first opened. At the time, it was more like a refugee camp. Thousands of families were camped nearby, because there was water and food available. It was rationed, of course, but it was available. This Quonset hut was used to warehouse food back in those days.
My sister, Sheila, and I were part of the Nutritional LogisticsTeam. Our job was to distribute meals. One day a company of soldiers, supposedly from the National Guard, showed up without warning and took over the facility, declaring martial law. They gave us thirty minutes to pack and get out. Sheila was staying in a room in back, the one you slept in as a matter of fact. She ran back to get her belongings and I never saw her again. Her belongings were still in the room. She just disappeared...that wasn’t uncommon in those days, people were frequently reported missing. Rumours linked the disappearances to human traffickers from mainland China. That was a smoke screen. I have evidence pointing in another direction. Nevertheless; it was a frequent occurrence, so not much effort was put into finding one person. Anyway, I miss my sister and you reminded me of her. Simple, really.”
“How long ago was that? When she went missing I mean?”
“That was two years after I quit the NGA. I quit in forty-five, so...April of forty-seven. Thirteen years ago. She would be thirty-eight years old this year. Or, I should say, she is thirty-eight years old. I haven’t given up on her. I think she is alive.
“What makes you think that?”
Jordan’s voice suddenly changed from melancholy to angry. “Someone is regularly using her WRC.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Amber was keenly interested in Jordan’s ability to know the seem
ingly unknowable.
“Let’s just say that I have a friend who can access that type of information.”
Jordan paused, letting his words sink in. Amber sat mute. Unable to grasp the implications of what Jordan was telling her.
“My friend does what he can to help those who carry hope along with the will and strength to survive...like the two of us.”
“That friend of yours sounds strangely like you,” Amber said, staring at oddest man she had ever met.
Jordan avoided eye contact, shifting uneasily in his black, swivel chair. He changed the subject,“Do you have a car?”
“I do. Or, I should say I had a car, a 2015 Costco Scooter. It ran out of gas in Murchinson. I hid it. I left the keys in it, too. I don’t care; it was in bad shape.”
“Forget about it, then.” Jordan could see that Amber was restless, fiddling with the backpack’s straps and glancing at the door.
“I have one more tool for you. Follow me.” He got up and walked between the M and N rows to a panel at the rear of the Q-hut. He placed his thumb on a smudged spot on the panel, a portion of the wall slid into an overhead cavity.
Jordan’s face lit up with a smile, “Ever seen on of these things?” He was pointing at a flat-black, two-wheeled cycle.
“Stunning isn’t it?” he was waiting for Amber’s reaction. She was dumbfounded.
“This here beauty is a Brammo Enertia Transport manufactured in Italy in 2021. It’s battery powered, with a range of one-hundred and eighty miles before needing a recharge. The speedometer shows a top speed of 140; I can testify to that,” He grinned, “Look at this, you see these panels...they flip out like this,” he released two twelve-inch square panels on the side of the cycle. “They’ll recharge the batteries in four hours. I’ve just finished rebuilding this one. You want it? You can have it. As you can see, I have several more.”
Amber was grinning, as she recalled fond memories of time spent on a small motorcycle.
“I had a motorcycle a long time ago. My neighbor gave it to me shortly after my dad died. It ran on moonshine. It was really loud and obnoxious and I loved it. I built a little trailer to pull with it and hauled water for my mom and some of our neighbors until something in the motor broke. I dreamed of getting another one...but...this one... this is a dream come true.”
Amber couldn’t believe her good fortune, spontaneously, she turned to Jordan and gave him a hug.
“Thank you, thank you, Jordan. You have been so generous. I hope I can return the favor.” She squeezed his lanky frame as hard as she could.
Jordan suddenly became aroused and gently pushed her away. “You can do something for me. Keep an eye out for my sister while you travel. I put a picture of her in your pack. Did I tell you we are twins? She has the same red hair, green eyes and a hooked nose like mine. Now that you have looked at my ugly mug for several hours, you should have no problem recognizing her if you see her. I know, it seems unlikely, even impossible, but...dad used to say it's a small world...it’s even smaller, now.”
Amber nodded. “If I see her, I promise I’ll tell her where you are and that you are doing fine, Jordan. Thanks again for everything.” She shook his hand, and wheeled the electric cycle to the front door while Jordan gave her some last minute instructions.
“Fasten the strap on your hat, or you’ll loose it. Oh...I almost forgot...take these.” He handed her a pair of goggles. “Put them on...they’ll protect your eyes from flying debris.”
Jordan gave her shoulder a squeeze, turned and walked into the Q-hut, closing and locking the door behind him.
Amber secured her hat, put the goggles on, then straddled the bike, feeling the firm saddle conform to her bottom. She gave the throttle a gently twist; the bike lurched forward.
"Touchy, aren't you," she giggled.
She advanced the throttle more slowly and the humming AC motor carried her north on highway 164.
CHAPTER 13 - MAY 3
Amber rode the scooter into the night, skirting the west side of Fort Worth on Highway 171 before the scooter's battery reserves were depleted. Five miles south of Decatur, Texas. She huddled beside the Brammo cycle. Heat from the motor warmed her for an hour or so before it cooled in the night air. She wrapped a lightweight mylar blanket around herself and slept.
She was up with the sun and soon riding northwest along the shoulder of Highway 287 through the rolling hills and overgrown cotton fields of north Texas watching her shadow swing with passage of time like the gnomon of a sundial, from west to north to east. As she studied the silhouettes of distant, motionless oil pumps, she suddenly remembered Jordan’s warning about being followed. She immediately stopped the cycle and studied the road behind her. She saw a black dot in the distance. It appeared to be on the highway, but she could’t be sure. She couldn’t see it moving. She watched for several minutes. No movement. She dismissed it for the moment but was determined to pay more attention. However; as soon as she had her hand on the throttle, she forgot about caution and vigilance in favor of her newfound freedom. She rode through a string of deserted towns: Alvord, Sunset, Fruitland, and Bowie. Lifeless and silent towns save for the vultures that circled high overhead waiting for death to bring something to the table. By mid-afternoon she was riding due north following the Chisholm Trail into Oklahoma. The 88 volt batteries gave up their last remaining watts as she coasted into Comanche. She failed again to study her trail while the black dot loomed on the horizon.
She pushed the cycle through the open door of a small warehouse near the center of town and parked it inside. As she did so she remembered that she had not stopped to see if anyone was following. Better do that now, she thought. From the shadows she watched for any movement on the nearby streets. Nothing. She caught glimpses of motion in the accumulated brush caught against a fence in the alley across the street. Whatever it was, was small. Rodents? Rats? Her skin crawled. Open doors and broken windows were evidence enough that the town had been thoroughly ransacked. Discarded items were strewn like trash at high tide, against curbs, buildings and fence rows. Advertising signs lay faded and broken on the cracked sidewalks, enticing only ghosts to do business.
She watched the streets for hours cursing herself for her lack of vigilance during the day. She suddenly realized how alone she really was. She wanted to talk to someone. She wanted to share her thoughts about the aloneness she was feeling and the desolation she was seeing. What if someone did approach her? What could she do? She began to feel vulnerable. She withdrew the Tazer from the holster on her belt and practiced flipping the trigger guard open and closed. She practiced drawing it from the holster until she was comfortable with the motion, using the lazer to pinpoint her imaginary targets. She wondered what it would feel like to be stunned with the darts. She pushed them against her forearm until the dart tips broke her skin.
"Feels like a scorpion bite," she quietly said, surprised at the comfort provided by the sound of her own voice.
"I should talk to myself more often," she continued, and then laughed in the dark, hollow, wooden shell of the building.
After hours of sitting she had seen nothing alarming. She rose and pushed the scooter along the interior of the building to a point were a piece of metal roofing had been ripped off by wind allowing the sun to illuminate a rectangular area on the warped plank floor. She positioned the Brammo in the sunshine and opened the charging panels.
She removed her backpack and pulled a protein bar from the large front pocket, unwrapped it and stuffed the entire thing in her mouth, chasing it down with a generous portion of water; making sure to place the wrapper in her pack. "Don't leave a trail." Duane had said. It seemed excessive, but who was she to ignore his advice. Was she being watched? Nothing moved save the rodents and insects. Looking up through the rafters, she could see the turkey vultures circling, waiting to see if she would survive the night.
“You can’t have me, yet,” she said, balling her fist, raising it in the air.
As the sun set, she ate
another protein bar then slept soundly, leaning against the rear wheel of the Brammo, using the mylar blanket to hold her body's heat against the cold night air.
#
(May 7 - Day Three)
She woke with the sunrise and stretched before relieving herself between the broken floor boards. She pushed the Brammo outdoors to complete the charging process while she ate a protein bar and sipped water, watching the sun illuminate the emptiness of Kansas. What did people do here, she wondered? What brought people to Kansas?
"Good morning, Kansas," she yelled as loud as she could.
She realized immediately that such outbursts would call attention to her if anyone was about.
"Talk quietly," she told herself.
"Good morning Kansas. What's for breakfast?” she whispered.
“You are, little lady.” a male voice threatened from behind her.
Amber froze for a second then spun to face the intruder.
He was on her before she could get a look at him. He ripped the Tazer out of it’s holster and threw it across the yard. One hand over her mouth, the other on her breast, he tore at her clothing while he tried to undo his belt.
Amber instinctively felt for the Tazer. It was missing. She struggled to free herself from her attacker, kicking and clawing, she freed herself as he tripped on his jeans which were now around his ankles. She could see him now, a dirty string of a man, he was no bigger than she. Amber crouched, knife in hand, she waited for his next move. He kicked his pants off and lunged. She stepped to the side avoiding his grasp, she grabbed his oily hair with one hand and slashed at his torso, the knife penetrated his jacket cutting a gash across his upper chest. He yelped like a struck dog while stumbling forward landing face down in the dust with blood oozing from his wound. Before he could recover, Amber retrieved the Tazer, flipped the safety off, aimed and squeezed the trigger. With barbs planted in his stomach, her attacker writhed in the dirt like a wounded snake. Amber waited for him to recover slightly then pulled the trigger again.