Dave didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he woke up and saw it was already dark again.
It made sense. He’d been through a lot the past few days. He’d taxed his body and his mind. And he hadn’t exactly been sleeping well of late, even before the fateful mission to avenge Tony’s death.
He was exhausted, emotionally as well as physically, so it just made sense his body was going to go into protective mode.
His mind knew he needed his rest. It forced him to sleep, and to sleep deeply.
So deeply he didn’t hear the three men who walked past the sleeper about ten a.m. heatedly arguing.
He was by nature a light sleeper.
But even the men’s loud and salty words, as they argued about whether the world would ever recover from the sun’s assault, didn’t wake him up. Didn’t even cause him to stir.
He also never heard a different group of men, peering into the Explorer fifty feet in front of the rig, trying to see what was inside through the tinted windows.
He never heard the rear seat window being shattered with the butt of a rifle so the men could get a better view.
They were looking for dope or precious metals.
They looked in didn’t see anything of value on the front or rear seats.
One of them crawled inside and checked the glove box and the console, leaving both of them open.
If he hadn’t been high he might have noticed the tractor ignition switch haphazardly attached to the dashboard, and the odd array of ugly wires going from the switch to beneath the dash.
His eyes locked on it for a brief second, but he didn’t notice. His cloudy mind kept him from attaching any particular significance.
And even if he had identified the Explorer as a working vehicle it wouldn’t do him any good anyway.
The key was in Dave’s pocket.
They saw a pile of blankets in the back of the vehicle, in the cargo area.
Had they taken the effort to lift the blankets they’d have found a goldmine in weapons.
But nobody kept gold jewelry or dope in the cargo department.
Dave missed all the activity going on outside the rig on that particular day.
For he was in the deepest form of sleep.
Dave didn’t dream often. Typically only when he was in REM sleep.
But he dreamed on this particular day.
It wasn’t a pleasant one.
Chapter 17
He should have awakened well rested and relaxed. After all, he’d slept almost thirteen hours.
He should have been nice and cool, for the skies had been overcast and daytime temps had been moderate. Although quite unusual for late summer, the sleeper was quite comfortable.
Yet Dave was covered in sweat.
It wasn’t the temperature in the sleeper, and he wasn’t getting sick.
Although he was a bit nauseous at the dream he’d just had.
When Dave rescued his family in Kansas he was hesitant to leave them again. He’d wiped out Swain’s band of murderers and thieves and Sarah had killed Swain herself.
But neither could fool themselves and think that was the end of the danger.
For Swain and his men were like many others. Many bad men who’d escaped from Leavenworth and were living free in the countryside.
Most people think the Federal Prison at Fort Leavenworth as a minimum security facility.
They assume that since it’s a military prison it houses men who are guilty of non-violent crimes: desertion, malingering, dereliction of duty.
The truth is actually quite different.
While the great majority of members of the United States armed forces serve with distinction and honor, there are a few bad apples in every batch.
A tiny percentage of military personnel commit crimes.
And their crimes run the same gamut as civilians who also commit crimes.
The prisoners at Leavenworth included robbers, rapists and murderers, some serving life sentences.
In short, many of them were very bad people.
Many of those bad people, more than a year after the blackout, were still on the loose in the Leavenworth area because there was very little law enforcement left to hunt them down.
Most had gone to ground, taking over farm houses and ranches similar to the one they took away from Sarah’s sister Karen and brother-in-law Tommy.
But some still roamed freely, and would no doubt love the chance to take Sarah and her sister hostage again in Dave’s absence.
As desperately as Dave needed to get back on the road to find Beth, he’d still been hesitant to leave the women and children alone and vulnerable.
Karen had provided the solution when she remembered that some of her neighbors were also preppers.
“A couple of years before the lights went out the Dykes family bought several huge shipping containers,” Karen told them.
“They swore Tommy and me to secrecy, but I don’t think they’d mind me telling you. They’re good people, and I’m sure they would help us out if they knew what dire straits we’re in.”
Dave had asked, “What did they do with the shipping containers?”
“They leased a bulldozer and a front end loader. They spent months digging out a huge hole in the ground. Then they cut the doors off the containers, welded them together underground, then covered them back up with the earth.
“They made a huge bunker and stocked it with everything they’d need to survive underground for a long period of time.”
“Do you think they’d let y’all stay with them until I got back with Beth?”
“I’m positive. As I said, they’re good people and were good friends, although we haven’t talked in awhile.”
Dave’s plan was to get directions to the Dykes brothers’ bunker, then to go in unarmed to explain the situation to them.
But he got overruled.
“They’ll shoot you on sight,” Karen said. “They don’t know you from Adam. They’ll never let you get close enough to explain the situation.”
“Then how do we contact them?”
“I’ll go. I’ll wear the yellow sun dress I wore the last time I saw them. They’ll recognize me. They’ll let me go in close enough to talk to them. It’s the only safe way.”
Dave didn’t like it. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t shoot her as an interloper.
Worse, there was no guarantee the Dykes brothers’ camp hadn’t been overrun by convicts as Karen’s place had been. They might shoot Karen or take her hostage.
And Dave was tired of having to rescue people from bad guys.
He didn’t like the plan, and loudly said so.
But there was no way Karen was going to let her sister watch as the Dykes gunned down the husband she’d just reconciled with.
Dave had turned to Sarah looking for her support, but she sided with Karen.
“She makes sense, honey. They won’t shoot an unarmed woman. Especially once they recognize her as a friend.”
In the end, it worked out well. The Dykes had fashioned an underground watch tower which looked eerily like a World War II German pillbox. Beneath it, in a sprawling bunker made of shipping containers, they’d fashioned comfortable living quarters.
And they had plenty of space to take on several temporary visitors.
Dave helped Karen and Sarah move into the bunker with their children just before he left in his search for little Beth.
When he left, all was well.
But in the horrific dream he’d just had it was anything but.
In his dream, the bunker was overrun by a team of escaped inmates.
In his dream, the attackers were combat-hardened Iraq war veterans. They had the highest quality firepower including the most rare and sought after weapons:
Weapons which were fully automatic.
Further, they knew how to use them. Ammunition wasn’t a problem. They seemed to have an endless supply.
They’d served in the same unit in Iraq, before th
ey were busted for conspiring to shoot their commanding officer in the back.
They were tried together, convicted together and sent to the same military prison to serve out their sentences, ranging from forty years to life.
Since they’d served together in combat they were able to operate as a well-oiled machine.
Dave, deep in sleep, had started to thrash about when he envisioned one inmate after another cresting the hill and into the pillbox.
He had a ringside seat and watched as they shot every single man in the bunker.
And spared the women to suffer what promised to be an even worse fate.
When he saw the men take his wife to one side and make plans to have their way with her, he finally woke up.
It was a merciful awakening, for he couldn’t bear to see what would have happened had he kept on dreaming.
He was understandably relieved when his eyes opened and he realized it was all a dream.
Still, it would trouble him for some time to come.
He tried to put it out of his mind as he opened the small hatch to the sleeper cab and crawled out to urinate on the tractor’s massive tire.
But it was there to stay, at least for awhile.
For awhile it would drive him nuts.
Meanwhile, not far from the Dykes brothers’ bunker a few miles from Leavenworth prison, a band of hardened criminals camped in the woods and formulated an assault plan.
Chapter 18
Joe Manson certainly wasn’t much to look at even before his accident. Average at best, he couldn’t do better than date the plain girls.
He’d wanted the cheerleaders, the beauty queens, the “lookers” that all the other high school boys craved. But his average personality and average looks certainly did nothing to attract any.
Add to that the acne which plagued him from the day he hit puberty, and he tended to repel, rather than attract, the prettiest girls his school had to offer.
High schoolers are bad about attaching cruel nicknames. From the beginning of his sophomore year Joe was known around campus as “Pizza Face.”
He’d fought the first few times he’d heard the name. For what he lacked in looks he made up in toughness.
But the fisticuffs did nothing to stop the name calling. It was less open, maybe. But the moniker stuck, as people simply referred to him as Pizza Face behind his back.
Joe’s only real talent, besides knowing exactly where on the jaw to hit his opponent to knock him out cold, was fixing cars.
It was one of the few things his father ever did for him. His father was a certified mechanic who’d worked at a local Ford dealer for many years. He could fix anything, and taught his trade to Joe from an early age. By the time Joe started high school he was making good money working weekends as a backyard mechanic.
Enough, anyway, to buy himself a motorcycle.
It had been his latest scheme to win the heart of one Kayla Perry, who he’d had the hots for since grade school.
Kayla was the head cheerleader then, and boys like Pizza Face weren’t supposed to date girls like that.
High school had a pecking order. Quality chicks, like the prettiest girls, the cheerleaders and members of the dance squad, were supposed to date the jocks. Sometimes the smart boys, like the class president, got a shot. But usually the jocks got the hot chicks and the star quarterback got the head cheerleader.
Normally guys like Joe just sat in the background, watching girls like Kayla from afar and fantasizing.
Something else Joe had was nerve. He was willing to gamble even when it was obvious the odds were stacked way against him. One night after he’d downed several beers with his buddies he boldly walked into the Dairy Queen where Kayla worked and strolled up to the counter.
“I love you,” he slurred while his friends snickered. “I want to marry you someday. But right now I’ll settle for you going to the prom with me.”
Kayla could have cursed at him. Could have asked him to leave. Could have called the manager from the back and had him thrown out.
But she was sweet and bright enough to understand the sexual frustration and societal pressures that guide a teenage boy’s behavior. Behavior that while sometimes bizarre and socially unacceptable doesn’t necessarily make one a bad guy.
“I’m sorry, Joe. You know I’m going with Jacob. We’ve been going together since freshman year.”
“If you realize he’s just a dumb-headed jock and decide to dump him before prom will you at least consider going with me?”
Many girls would have gotten upset at the implication she was getting ready to dump her boyfriend. But Kayla, being sweet and understanding crushes because she’d had her share herself, let him down easy.
“Yes, Joe. If I decide to dump Jacob I’ll certainly consider your offer.”
As far as Kayla was concerned it was a closed matter. She and Jacob were on firm ground, and she had no plans of breaking up with him, for Joe or for any other reason.
Joe continued to admire her from afar, and one afternoon a month later he saw something which would change his life forever.
He was driving his old Chevy Silverado pickup truck down the main drag of their town when Jacob whizzed by on his brand new motorcycle. It was only 100 cc, way underpowered and a rice burner at that. But it was a bike and it was fun and it was relatively fast in city traffic.
Kayla was on the back with him, her arms wrapped tightly about his waist. Her long blonde hair flew in the wind and she laughed in glee as they disappeared over the horizon.
Joe made a rash decision, then and there.
He had to get his own bike.
He’d wanted a Harley. Something big and badass with plenty of power. Something that would make a statement when he rolled up on it. A bike with a rumble that would turn heads a block away and tell everybody that Joe was coming.
Joe… and Kayla.
Surely she wouldn’t continue to go with a guy with a piss ant little scooter when there was a real man with a Harley around.
Unfortunately the panhead he fell in love with was way out of his reach. McDonald’s didn’t pay enough to purchase such treasures, and his backyard auto repair business had been slow in recent months.
He had to settle for a ten year old Kawasaki.
To be sure, it was a nice bike, and would provide Kayla a comfortable ride after she got smart and dumped the clown.
It wasn’t a Harley. But he’d get that panhead or another like it someday when he was bringing home a little more bread.
It’s an old story, really. A car or a truck pulls out from a stop sign directly into the path of a motorcycle because the driver is too inattentive to see it.
A novice rider, still learning what his bike can and can not do, panics and wipes out, resulting in serious injury to the rider while the driver of the truck walks away unscathed.
It happens dozens of times a day all over the world. In most cases, the only injuries are those incurred by the rider.
The innocent one. The one who was obeying the rules of the road and expecting others to do the same.
Joe only had his bike for three weeks when a dump truck pulled out in front of him, using up both of the traffic lanes.
A more experienced rider would have seen the truck and anticipated the problem in time to brake to a stop. Or would have quickly noted the oncoming lanes were full and ridden onto the sidewalk behind the truck.
Joe panicked. It was the first time someone had stolen his right-of-way. He didn’t have a clue where to go or what to do, and the split second he had to react wasn’t enough time to weigh his options.
He hit his front brake hard and flew over the front of the bike. He slid beneath the turning truck and came out the other side as his bike crashed into the rear wheel set.
Luckily the driver saw Joe coming when it was too late to give way. He stopped, blocking the entire roadway but at least he didn’t roll over him as Joe slid beneath the truck.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn�
��t see him,” the driver proclaimed to the cops.
It was a very old story. He didn’t see him because he hadn’t looked.
Joe was lucky. He broke both arms and an ankle. Those would heal, and wouldn’t cause him nagging pain until much later in life.
He was able to walk with only a slight limp. The most noticeable injury was to his face.
When he skidded forty feet across the pavement his face took the brunt of it. Most of his left cheek was ripped away.
For the rest of his life he’d be horribly scarred.
He got a new nickname out of the deal: “Scarface.”
It would affect his general attitude and impact him in so many ways in the years ahead.
And he never did get the girl.
Chapter 19
Joe went into a great funk after the accident. For three months he was home schooled, unable to handle crutches with two broken arms.
Only a couple of his friends bothered to visit him during that time, and he came to realize it wasn’t just Kayla who didn’t care whether he lived or died.
It was his so-called buddies as well.
He made himself a vow then and there. He’d graduate, for he knew a diploma was the only way out of his tiny town and into the real world. Without it he’d be flipping burgers for the rest of his life and could never afford to go anywhere else.
Once he graduated he’d get the hell out of town and would never look back.
And Kayla? She could just go straight to hell.
The day after graduation Joe visited the Army recruiter on Main Street and signed up.
“Do you have any talents?” the recruiter asked.
“I’m a great mechanic,” was the reply. “I can fix anything with wheels.”
“What happened to your face?”
It was a rather harsh question, but it was pretty obvious something had.
“Sorry, but I have to ask. If you suffered any other injuries, it could affect whether or not you pass the physical.”
“I had a motorcycle accident. And yes, there were other injuries. I broke both forearms and my left ankle.”
“Any problems with your mobility?”
“My what?”
Payback: Alone: Book 7 Page 6