by Joe Nobody
An hour later, the two upright SAINT members were carrying their wounded comrade out of the rocks. It was a hot, difficult trail back to the road, but nothing compared to what they would have had to endure walking all the way back to Fort Davidson cross-country.
As they scrambled, climbed, slid, skidded, and hauled Grim toward the truck, Bishop had time to reflect on what he’d seen in the valley that morning.
The ranchers were obviously pissed about the house being burned to the ground. The Texan didn’t blame them but figured there was more at play than just the loss of a home that neither clan used for its primary residence.
Watts had been very clear – the conflict was over the water that flowed through the surrounding property. That’s what they had been fighting over for decades. So why have such a harsh reaction to the fire, real Bishop or pretender?
And who was this imposter? Now, it is true that Terri does have a great pair of legs… but that aside… who the hell would want to change lives with me? Bishop mused.
The Texan’s initial thoughts gravitated towards a group of opportunists, roaming the countryside looking for a place to settle, or leverage for financial gain, or just ramble around scavenging for survival. They could have heard about the SAINT teams. His name was unusual and thus easy to remember.
That reasoning, however, didn’t fit with the skill, equipment, and organization the strangers had shown as they had pushed Bishop’s team out. The Texan hadn’t seen anybody fight like that since Deke and his group of Darkwater contractors had tried to take the ranch so long ago.
The Alliance was full of rugged, capable men and women. Merely surviving the collapse often required some level of skill with a firearm and the willpower to use it. Often, it was the bold, aggressive sorts who prevailed. The meek had not inherited the earth – or at least not the part labeled Texas.
The team that attacked Bishop had been different. They were professional fighters, disciplined and experienced. Everything from their controlled usage of ammunition to their coordination of movement led the Texan to believe they were most likely a unit that had either trained or served together in a combat zone.
Why that specific ranch at that specific time?
They found the pickup right where Bishop had left it. Grim was quickly slid into the bed, Butter riding in the back to make sure his friend was comfortable.
As Bishop drove toward Fort Davidson, he continued trying to solve the mystery.
Even if a team of former military men had banded together, it was still a troubling coincidence. They had bypassed Grim’s web of trip lines as if the booby traps had been anticipated, maybe even expected. Obviously, Bishop and his team had been scouted before the assault had begun. It was almost as if the imposter and his men knew the SAINT members were there. But how could that be? Bishop shook his head to clear the cobwebs, afraid that the heat of the desert was causing erratic thinking. Not the time to get on some paranoid tangent, he told himself. But where was the logic in all of this?
Now, all of the attackers were dead but one, and he was in Katherine’s custody. Why hadn’t she killed the man outright? What was all this talk about using the prisoner in negotiations? The list of unknowns kept piling up, and Bishop didn’t have any answers.
A bump in the road diverted Bishop’s attention to his comrades in the pickup’s bed. A quick thumbs up from Butter assured the driver that his passengers were handling the trip as best as they could. But there was no doubt; if his friend were to survive, he needed the attentions best delivered on an operating table. Bishop knew that his primary concern right now had to be getting medical attention for Grim, providing a safe trip to Davidson.
But at the same time, the puzzle before him begged to be solved.
One thing was for certain, if the man detained by the Baxter ranch hands died, there most likely would never be any resolution to the Texan’s multitude of questions.
His inner voice kept nagging him about the element of his identity. An undeniable benefit of a post-collapse environment absent electronic banking, email, on-line ordering, and credit cards was the elimination of identity theft from a man’s list of daily concerns. Or so he thought.
What really troubled the Texan was the fact that a man claiming his name was being prosecuted for Bishop’s past sins… or perceived wrongdoings. As the pickup approached the outskirts of Fort Davidson, that dawning, little epiphany troubled Bishop greatly.
While he produced his credentials at the Fort Davidson guard’s outpost, he combed the corners of his mind for the captive’s exact words. He envisioned the prisoner’s quivering voice saying, “My name isn’t Bishop. I told you that to scare you.” What the heck did he mean by that? the Texan wondered. While he appreciated a little respect as much as the next man, why should his name strike fear in any honest heart?
From what he had overheard, Katherine and Abe had a bone to pick with the Alliance and more specifically with the man they thought was Bishop. Words like henchmen, murdering marauder, thugs, and other derogatory terms had come spewing out of the ranchers’ mouths. Why? Even for West Texas, those were some pretty strong accusations.
Yes, he’d been involved in a gunfight or two. Sure, the SAINT team had run into the occasional trouble here and there. But, for the most part, Bishop thought he’d acted honorably the vast majority of the time. Haters are going to hate, he repeated.
He made up his mind. There was only one way he was going to get to the bottom of this.
As Bishop watched Grim being loaded into the county’s only functional ambulance, Grim started grumbling at the two EMT’s for their rough handling of his sensitive carcass. The Texan nodded with a knowing smile - his friend would be okay. He’d be in Alpha soon, undergoing surgery in a matter of hours.
“I want you to go with him,” Bishop informed Butter. “I’m going to poke around that valley some more before I head back home.”
“But… but sir… by yourself?”
“I’ll be very careful. Some man is walking around using my name, and I want to find out what he’s up to. I have a very bad feeling about all this. Besides, Nick, Sheriff Watts, and Terri need a full briefing on what’s going on. Tell them to give me two days, and if I’m not in touch by then, send in the cavalry. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. Be safe, Mister Bishop. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
Chapter 8
Hunter, for some unknown reason, had slept in. Mom thought it was a miracle or at minimum a sign that it was going to be the grandest of days.
With the Alliance’s new policy now being distributed all across the territory and a few extra hours of sleep, Terri was in the best of moods as she pushed her son’s buggy toward the Alpha courthouse.
She needed to go to the ranch for additional clothing and to check on the homestead. Neither she nor Bishop had been home for quite some time.
Nick, sporting his typical overprotective reaction, had insisted that Terri take at least one security man along. “I wouldn’t feel right about a young lady and her child traveling by herself before everything went to hell, let alone after,” he’d said. “Stop by the courthouse, and I’ll assign a man to drive you out.”
In the end, Terri had agreed, secretly thankful for the escort and protection. Hunter could be a handful at times, and a distraction was the last thing she needed while venturing into the desert. While she was sure everything was fine, a girl just never knew.
At Main Street, she decided that intruding on the inner workings of government could wait, choosing instead to depart on a quest to find something yummy and sweet. While donuts were still uncommon, cakes and other treats were often available. She’d let somebody else make her a cup of tea for a change.
“We’re going to spoil ourselves today,” she informed a smiling Hunter. “You dad is out playing with his friends and their guns, so we’re going to get our share of the good life. I promise you’ll like chocolate icing. It’s a gift from God.”
Mother and son meandere
d casually down the sidewalk, stopping a few times to window shop or greet a passerby. The weather was cooling off, the sky a royal blue, and there wasn’t a single thing on her calendar with a deadline. Paradise.
A handbill mounted on a nearby utility pole advertised a bake sale to raise money for the Alpha Elementary School. “Perfect!” Terri said to Hunter. “We can shop for goodies and meet some of your future teachers and friends.”
For his part, Hunter seemed in agreement with the plan, flashing a toothless grin and cooing as Terri knelt and examined his diaper.
Pivoting the buggy and reversing course, Terri made straightaway for the chocolate treats. As she paced the short distance, the first dark cloud of the day drifted into the mother’s mind. Bishop had fought inside the very school building that was now hosting the fundraiser. That was the day the president had been killed, setting off a sequence of events that, even to this day, made her shudder.
She pushed away the memories, determined not to let the past foul what was turning out to be the best weather of the year so far. Bishop and she had survived, and that was all that mattered.
It wasn’t easy to clear her head of the negatives.
Seeing her husband arrested, on his knees, handcuffed, and accused of heinous crimes was an image no loving wife ever wanted to catalog. Waiting for traffic to clear at an intersection, she longed for the days when a girl’s wedding album and family portraits were the most vivid memories.
The worst of it all hadn’t been the threats to Bishop’s freedom. Nor was it the lonely nights when he was off on some dangerous trek. How many times had she stared out the camper’s tiny window, absolutely convinced her man would never come home?
No, by far the mental pictures that were burned the deepest… the ones that would haunt her forever… were the bodies.
Hunter somehow managed to eject his favorite blanket overboard at that moment, the act followed by a hearty chuckle from the stroller’s cockpit. It obviously was a major accomplishment, the boy giddy with his success.
Terri stopped to retrieve the worn security-cloth, exchanging the now-soiled unit for a spare she kept in the diaper bag. Kneeling to face the boisterous young man, she gently reprimanded the lad, “We’re not going to play this game, Hunter. This is the last clean one I’ve got until I can do a load of wash.”
She passed the blanket to her son’s eager, outreached hands. In a flash, with a squeal, it was sailing over the edge.
Terri managed to catch the flying cloth before it hit the ground, her quick movement adding to the boy’s delight. “Augggh! You are as hardheaded as your father,” she scolded. “No.”
Hunter seemed hurt by the rebuke, his frown deepening when mom held the blanket close to her chest as if she wasn’t going to return the projectile.
After a bit of fussing, she again handed it over. Hunter hugged and snuggled the article, and then tossed it with glee.
“You little turd,” Terri said, trying hard to keep a straight face while pretending as if she wasn’t going to return the blanket.
“Having trouble with the men in your life?” a voice behind Terri questioned. It was Chase.
Rolling her eyes, she responded, “Of course. What woman doesn’t?”
The ambassador smiled, spreading his arms wide, “What a glorious morning for a walk.”
“Hunter and I were just on our way to the school bake sale. I promised him a treat with chocolate icing.”
Chase peered up and down the street, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “Bake sale? Seriously?”
“Sure, why not? It is a great way for them to raise money. They’re trying to start a centralized textbook exchange.”
It was clear from his expression that the diplomat didn’t get it.
Terri handed her son back the blanket while issuing a stern warning to Hunter. She really didn’t want to be bothered at the moment, but then considered that it was now her job to act as a liaison. Besides, she could use the opportunity to show him a small part of what the Alliance was about. “Come on, you can walk with us and see for yourself,” she offered.
As they ambled toward the school, Terri explained. “Books are a valuable commodity these days. They’re not making any more and probably won’t be for a while. As the recovery continues, reading about how to grow a crop, fix an electrical appliance, or repair a car’s brakes is often the only option people have for problem solving.”
Chase shrugged, “Makes sense. I suppose if there aren’t any surviving repairmen in your town, and no phone service to call someone, it would be do-it-yourself or do without. But I still don’t see what that has to do with the school?”
“Our schools have been forced to change their curriculum from the old days. Yes, we still have reading, writing, and math, but we also have to teach practical skills. Our 4th graders learn how to grow vegetables. In the 6th grade, there is a class on small engine repair. The problem is finding enough books. Someone came up with the idea of starting a centralized book repository where school systems from all around the Alliance could trade, swap, buy, and sell with each other and the general public at large.”
Chase didn’t seem impressed. Nodding toward Hunter’s stroller, he chided, “I’m not so sure I’d want my child’s traditional education altered so drastically. What we teach to the young ones has been basically unchanged for decades.”
Terri shrugged, “Really, there’s no choice. A lot of parents didn’t come out of the downfall in such great shape. Many still barely have enough to eat, and often larger families depend on the children to work. In some cases, the kids might be the only household members who can do manual labor. Remember, there’s no Social Security anymore. No Medicare, or unemployment insurance as a safety net.”
“So how have the handicapped, sick, and invalid citizens survived? Who fed and cared for them? Who is caring for them now?”
Stopping mid-stride, Terri turned and faced him. “They didn’t survive, Chase. At least not very many. And those that did manage to live are getting by with the help of friends, family, volunteers, churches and other private organizations. Like I said, we have to teach as many people to be self-sufficient as possible, as quickly as possible. Those that can help themselves will hopefully have the bandwidth to help others.”
“Can’t the Alliance as a government help?” he asked, still mulling her responses around in his head.
“Yes, the council tries to make sure everyone has enough food at a minimum. But beyond that, there are simply not enough resources or manpower to recreate all of the services that existed before the collapse.”
Chase rubbed his chin, “Some might argue that such a government’s priorities are all wrong then.”
A sly grin crossed Terri’s face, “Others might say that the ‘nanny state’ was a big part of why it all fell apart before.”
“Touché,” Chase responded. “Still, wasn’t it Pearl S. Buck who said, ‘The test of a civilization is the way that it cares for its helpless members?’”
Grunting, Terri replied, “Yes, but she’d never experienced an apocalypse before. We have.”
After giving Chase a moment to digest her words, Terri continued pushing the buggy. Chase remained silent but kept up.
After a few more strides, he said, “I’m sorry I sidetracked the conversation. I’m having a glorious morning, and should have known better than to start a conversation about politics. Check these out.”
Terri stopped pushing and accepted a handful of photographs the ambassador had extracted from his jacket.
She saw a beautiful home sitting on a hilltop, the landscaping, although overgrown, had at one time been spectacular.
The next photo was of the backyard, a huge swimming pool and summer kitchen dominating the picture. The remaining images of the mansion were just as impressive.
“This is a beautiful home,” Terri said, thumbing through the photos a second time. “Where is it?”
“One of the men Diana assigned to help with my relocati
on knew of it. I guess it’s secluded, just a few miles outside Alpha. From what I understand, the owner didn’t survive the downfall, and now the place is unoccupied. The people running the Alliance’s housing assignments were saving it for someone with the resources to fix it up... bring it back to its original glory. I think I’m going to take the project on, and maybe even try to convince Washington that it would make an excellent embassy. Want to see it with me?”
Terri stood staring at the pictures of the dream home, a pang of jealousy rising in her chest. Ignoring Chase’s direct question, she responded, “I bet it would take a small fortune to get everything back shipshape.”
He waved her off, “I’ve been very lucky as far as money is concerned. I married well and have had some success in business. Fortunately, most of my assets survived the downfall, so I’m in pretty good shape, financially speaking. I wouldn’t want to cause any marital rifts, but since Bishop is out of town, you should see it with me. After all, you are my liaison, right? Plus, I’ve always valued your opinion and taste. You could help me decide.”
The rolling hum of an electric golf cart interrupted the conversation, Terri’s heart sinking into her stomach when she turned and saw Nick, along with a filthy, grime-covered Butter racing down the street. Both approaching men had “that” look on their face.
Bishop! Something’s happened to Bishop!
How many times had she dreaded the news? How many dreams had played out a crushed, dejected Nick informing the new widow of her husband’s demise? How many nights had she sat, staring out the camper’s window, waiting for her man to come home? Terri’s hands started shaking, her legs suddenly as cold as ice.
The cart stopped at the curb despite Terri’s deepest desire that it continue down the street and pass them by. Her first instinct was to pull Hunter from the stroller, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t force her legs to work.
Nick sensed her trauma immediately. “Bishop’s okay, Terri. That’s not why we’re here.”
A flood of relief poured over the wife and mother, her apprehension staggered by a tidal wave of respite. She started to take a step toward Nick but stumbled on unsure legs.