It was a grizzled old owl, on a perch high in a tree, who gazed down at them without comment, without much concern.
He managed to catch every one of their words, though he understood none of them.
He wasn’t much interested in them either. To the old owl anything which rolled out of a human being was just gibberish.
It made no more sense to the owl than a bird’s sounds make to a man’s ears.
Man was just a curiosity to the owl; nothing more.
Perhaps.
Or perhaps there was a reason the two crossed paths; this old bird and these humans.
There are those who say there’s nothing coincidental in nature; that everything happens according to a set schedule or reason.
Some say.
Chapter 27
They stopped for the night beneath a highway overpass just in case the rain clouds which had been following them for hours decided to open up on them.
Lindsey asked, “How are we gonna hammer the tent pegs in if we’re on pavement?”
“We’re not,” Dave said.
“Well how are we gonna keep the tents from blowing away?”
“Duh… you get inside them and put your stuff inside them.”
“And that’ll be enough to keep them from blowing away?”
“It will unless there’s a hurricane or a tornado, and this is the wrong time of year for both.
“But just in case one comes through anyway, tent pegs wouldn’t hold the tents into place either.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Sal helped Dave pitch the tents while the women prepared dinner for the group.
If that arrangement seemed slightly sexist that was okay; because no one noticed or cared.
Sarah and the girls would share one four man tent which, as every camper knows, is barely big enough to sleep two adults comfortably.
Or one Sarah, one Lindsey and one Beth. Sarah and Lindsey were petite and Beth was tiny for her age.
Sal, being the senior member and the one who required the most room to get comfortable at night, would have the second tent to himself.
The tents would be set up with their doors facing one another, with about four feet of ground between them.
Dave would sleep in the open between the tents.
He would be the others’ line of defense as they slept, for no one could get into either tent without going through Dave.
As for dinner, they’d discussed that at length while on the road and knew ahead of time exactly what they were having.
They’d gotten enough jarred food from Mrs. Taylor to last them for about sixty days.
They brought enough MREs from Karen’s hidden stockpiles to last another week or two.
Neither needed refrigeration.
Both would provide the nourishment they’d need for most of the trip, and they’d gather enough along the way to make up the shortfall.
By mutual agreement they agreed to use the jarred food first, since it was considerably heavier than the MREs.
As each day went by and they used more of the jarred food, the weight they had to push in their shopping carts would lessen.
At the same time, each mile they pushed the carts they’d get a little bit stronger, a bit more used to pushing them.
Those two things, they reckoned, would make their journey easier as they went along.
It also made it easier to push the heavy carts for those twelve miles that first day, knowing that in all likelihood it wasn’t going to get any worse than it was at that moment in time.
In fact, it would get a little bit better each and every day.
Another piece of good news:
Hallie Taylor and the two cooks she employed were whizzes in preparing and jarring food.
She’d confided to Dave, as he looked through her basement pantries, that almost anything can be jarred if one knows how to do it.
And that she’d been doing it for well over thirty years.
She certainly knew her stuff.
On the menu that first night was chicken Mrs. Taylor had cooked, deboned and mixed with a heavenly array of spices.
To go with it were buttered mashed potatoes with finely chopped green onions and green peppers.
Jarred green beans provided a healthy vegetable, and everyone would enjoy cherry cobbler for dessert.
By mutual agreement they’d prepare and serve only two meals a day.
It would reduce down time, and that way the meals could serve as rest breaks as well.
There was also some logic in determining that breakfast would be the meal they’d skip.
They reasoned that in the morning they’d all be rested from a good night’s sleep. They should have the energy needed to strike out.
By lunchtime theyd be getting tired and hungry and would need a break.
Stopping in a shady place would give them a chance to rest and fill their bellies and give them the energy to strike out a second time.
By the time they did their twelve miles they’d be ready to stop again, this time to make camp and relax from their day’s journey.
Dave and Lindsey selected a wide variety of food in exchange for Karen’s cattle.
And Karen, bless her heart, wanted absolutely none of it.
“I’ve got enough food stashed around the farm to feed all of us for at least a year, and I can grow more. You guys take Hallie’s food. You’ll need way more nutrition than I will, putting all those miles beneath your feet every day.”
Sal, especially, was amazed at the variety of foods Mrs. Taylor provided.
“Wow! Meatloaf, potato salad, boiled eggs… lasagna? Oh, my God, do you know how long it’s been since I had a nice plate of lasagna?”
And that was before he tasted any of it.
When he bit into the innkeeper’s spiced chicken his eyes rolled back into his head.
He felt as though he’d died and gone to heaven.
To save time and the energy required to gather firewood they brought a two-burner camp stove and four small bottles of propane. They added a bit of weight to the bottom of Dave’s cart, but they’d discard the bottles as they became empty and that would help.
And it was summertime, so they wouldn’t need a campfire which burned all night to keep them from freezing.
That first night, when all were too exhausted to gather firewood anyway, Dave considered it one of the best decisions they’d made thus far.
Chapter 28
As they prepared to turn in for the night right around sundown Dave reminded everyone to “hit the woods and do your business” before zipping themselves up in their tents.
“I don’t want to be sound asleep and somebody step out of their tent to use the restroom and stick their stinky foot right in my face.”
Beth giggled.
“Dad, everybody knows you’re the only one in the family who has stinky feet.”
“Na-uh.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Lindsey’s feet are way stinkier than mine.”
“Hey! You two leave me out of this.”
All in all, as everyone retreated to their tents and zipped the flaps tight, it had been a good day.
They all missed Karen and Kara.
But they’d made good progress on their first day out.
They were all in good spirits, and all were looking forward to an arduous but adventurous journey.
It was only Dave who sensed danger.
And it was only Dave who recited the 91st Psalm each morning and evening.
He’d memorized the psalm as a young boy at the insistence of his grandmother.
“It’s the Protection Psalm,” she told him. “If you say it over someone each morning they’ll be safe from harm that day.
“If you say it again in the evening they’ll make it through the night.”
Dave was a big believer in his grandmother’s teachings, for she never lied to him. She never misled him or deceived him, and as far as he could tell she was never wrong about anything.<
br />
He felt a sense of foreboding. His sixth sense which foretold trouble was ringing loudly in the back of his mind every night when he closed his eyes.
During the day he was on high alert, yet trying very hard to hide the fact from his fellow travelers.
They were having a good time; he didn’t want to spoil that.
By Dave’s reckoning, the 91st Psalm would protect his loved ones from harm.
If anyone had to fall, therefore, by default it would be Dave himself.
And he was okay with that, as long as his family survived.
He’d be on his guard. Hopefully he’d sense the danger in time to come out of it unscathed. And if he didn’t, hopefully he’d get his family most of the way back to San Antonio.
If he left them, be it today or be it five miles from home, he knew they were strong enough to make it without him.
Sarah was the toughest woman he’d ever known. Lindsey was very quickly following in her mother’s footsteps.
And little Beth… his baby… was trying so hard to prove to everyone around her she was more adult than child.
No one was buying it, but that didn’t stop her from trying to convince them.
As long as they made it back to San Antonio, Dave knew, they’d be okay.
He and Sarah had worked together to make their home into a fortress.
He’d kept nothing from her, and she insisted on being a part of everything.
She knew where everything was stashed.
She was as good as he was when it came to killing and skinning rabbits.
And she was far better than he was when it came to cooking them.
She was the gardener in the family. She’d had a green thumb since she was a small girl. She’d grow more crops than they could possibly eat, and would put the excess in their stores.
As Dave settled in to sleep that first night, loaded .45 at his side, he was troubled but hopeful.
Troubled because he was convinced there was danger lurking ahead; hopeful because he knew his family was capable of surviving without him.
As it happened, the first night went quietly by.
Sal was the first one up, carefully stepping over a sleeping Dave before disappearing into the nearby woods.
Dave awoke a few minutes later to see Sal’s tent flap open, then dozed off again.
When he woke up a second time Sal was very quietly breaking down his tent and letting the air drain from his air mattress.
Dave whispered, “How come you’re up so early?”
The old man whispered, “I’ll tell you, but it has to be in private.”
Now, Dave wasn’t quite ready to roll out of bed.
But Sal’s comment awakened his curiosity and he knew this might be the only time all day the two could sneak off for a private conversation.
He was surprised when he sat up by how sore his muscles were.
He’d expected his thighs to be burning after a twelve-mile walk.
But it was more than that. Way more. His shoulders were stiff and sore. So were his biceps and his forearms.
One never thinks about the muscle groups used when pushing a heavy cart at the supermarket. And to be sure, most of us don’t push that heavy cart long enough or often enough to feel any pain from it.
But then again, grocery shopping is far different than pushing such a cart for twelve miles in a single day.
Dave moaned and groaned a bit but tried to do it quietly as he put his socks and sneakers on and then stood up.
He joined Sal about twenty feet away and Sal spilled the beans.
“I dreamed of my Nellie last night.
“She warned me there was danger ahead.”
“I’ve had the same feeling, Sal. Before we even left.”
“What do you think it means? Should we do anything differently?”
“No. We’re pretty much set as far as our plans. We’ll take the most direct route to San Antonio and be on our toes. We’ll hope for the best and with God’s grace we’ll get there okay.”
Chapter 29
The women all stumbled out of their tent together, complaining that every muscle in their bodies hurt.
Dave was ready for them, with a bottle of ibuprofen and a tube of Icy-Hot.
“These will help a lot,” he said. “And once we get back on the road and you start using the muscles again they’ll loosen up. That’ll help a lot too.”
“But Daddy,” Beth whined. “It hurts.”
It didn’t escape him she called him “Daddy.”
She’d been calling him Dad lately because she felt it was more “grown up.”
But since she was a baby he was always “Daddy” when she was frightened or in pain. And he was always her hero.
He liked being called Daddy. And he liked being her hero.
He hoped she occasionally called him Daddy until the day he died, for it harkened back better times. When she was tiny and innocent and dependent on her mom and dad for everything. When she held his hand because she found comfort in it, and when she giggled at the silliest of things.
“I know, Peanut. But every time you overuse your muscles enough to make them hurt you’re getting a little bit stronger.”
“Really?”
“Really. That’s how muscles grow. We stress them and damage them and they repair themselves. And every time they do that they’re a little bit stronger than the time before.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Wait a minute. I’m not going to look like the incredible hulk when this trip is finished, am I?”
Dave smiled.
“Of course not, silly girl. You’re not green.”
“Mommmm…”
“Ignore your father, honey. You won’t look like the incredible hulk, I promise. You won’t have great big monster muscles. But you’ll be stronger.”
She turned her tiny face back to Dave.
“Will I finally be strong enough to hold your gun without it being so heavy?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re no help, Dad.”
“Well, honey, I’m not sure. You use different muscles pushing a shopping cart than you use firing a pistol. But some of them are the same, and your arms will be stronger.
“So I’d say yes, by the time we get to San Antonio it should be easier for you to hold the gun.”
“Yay.”
“Yes, honey. Yay.”
Secretly Dave hoped he was still around when they got to San Antonio.
The women finished breaking camp and loaded everything on the carts while Dave visited a nearby Chevy Suburban to siphon gas for Sal’s go-cart.
Sal’s muscles were the stiffest of all and Dave had to help him get down into the machine.
Once he was situated, though, he was happy to be there.
He knew the other option… walking twelve more miles in the heat, would be no picnic.
“Are you sure none of you want to trade out with me? I don’t have to ride in this contraption every single day.”
All the others shook their heads or said, “no.”
It was partly out of respect for his role as the elder of the group and partly because they knew he’d work twice as hard as they would to push the same cart.
And there was a third reason none of them would ever voice.
Were he walking he’d be in danger of pushing himself too hard; of placing himself in great danger. He already had a mini-stroke and two minor heart attacks in his not-too-distant past.
He was old and out of shape.
And none of them wanted to lose him.
It took them just over twenty minutes to get everything loaded and ready to go.
Dave knew because he timed it, having wound his watch and reset it at the break of dawn.
He knew from experience that at this time of year the sun rose around 7:30 a.m., so he set his watch for that time. It wouldn’t be exact, but then again it didn’t need to be.
He observed, “Twenty minutes. Not bad for union wo
rkers.”
Beth had heard him use the term before without ever elaborating.
“Dad, what does that mean, anyway?”
“I don’t know, Peanut. It’s just something my grandpa used to say.”
They were back on the road five minutes later.
Sal, as he’d done a hundred times the day before, raced his go-cart ahead of the group to the next hill, peeked over it, then returned to report what he saw.
In that capacity he was acting as something of a scout, in the way cavalry scouts in the United States Army once rode ahead to watch for Indians or other hazards.
The other reason he did it was because there was no neutral gear on the go-cart. Once it was started it started to move, and it crept faster than the others could walk.
It had a brake, but he had to be careful not to ride the brake too long or he’d wear it out.
So while the others walked, Sal spent his time riding back and forth from the group to the next hill, or blind curve, or area of interest like a stream or stand of trees, then back again to report what was up ahead.
In his absence the others talked about him, and a hundred other things as well.
“He’s like a kid with a new toy,” Beth said.
“Yep. Just goes to show you’re never too old to have a second childhood.”
They were content, they were happy to be together again, and they were excited to be headed home.
They knew that the weeks ahead wouldn’t be all fun and games. It would wear them down and exhaust them all. But all in all it was a good time of year to travel. Summer wasn’t quite over yet, but the hottest part was. As they traveled the days would get cooler and they’d get stronger. They just might be able to increase their pace.
Dave had every reason to be optimistic.
He just couldn’t escape the nagging feeling there were dangers lurking ahead.
Chapter 30
Amy Martinez had always been a very smart girl. Everyone said so. From her first days of pre-school her teachers raved about how smart she was to already know her colors and her numbers and remarked at how precise her handwriting was.
Granted, back then her “handwriting” consisted of three block letters: A, M and Y.
Texas Bound: Alone: Book 11 Page 9