It was the best Dave had felt in many days. It was as though someone breathed new life into him.
He’d chosen correctly. He was on the right path.
The young couple didn’t know where the red pickup was headed. What their final destination would be.
They hadn’t asked. And really, why would they? There was no reason to.
It would have been nice knowing that. Just in case no one else saw them, he’d know where to stop and start conducting his house to house search.
But at least he knew he was headed in the right direction.
Chapter 42
Dave’s luck was changing, and for the better.
An hour after the couple had told him they’d seen the kidnappers and Beth, he’d stopped to take a short break in the shade of a bright red tractor attached to a fifty three foot trailer.
The trailer was unmolested. The seal was still intact, and no one had taken the time to break into it and root through it.
He assumed that was because emblazoned across the sides of the trailer was the logo of a large chain of hardware stores.
SWENSON’S HARDWARE:
Do It Better With Swenson’s
For a brief moment he pondered the phrase.
Do what better?
In his younger days, when his mind was a bit dirtier, he’d thought it hinted of sexual prowess. He thought it was meant to appeal to a man’s subliminal consciousness. To send him a weird message that if he purchased his hardware needs from Swenson’s he’d go home and be a sexual beast.
He’d mentioned his theory to Sarah one day and she told him he was nuts.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Seriously. Nuts with a side of insane, and a double helping of chocolate stupid for dessert.”
He supposed the reason the trailer hadn’t been broken into was that no one walking the highways was looking for nuts and bolts and electric drills.
They were looking for food and water.
And you can’t eat or drink nuts and bolts.
Well you could, but it would give you a heck of a stomach ache.
Dave was the curious sort.
He’d frequented the Swenson’s in San Antonio and bought much of his hardware there.
It was where he picked up a copy of Prepping on a Budget, the little book which gave him many of the ideas he’d incorporate into his prepper plans.
He’d been so enamored by the whole concept of the book he’d written to its author, a man named Charlie Bennett, to pick his brains.
“I know you have other tips you didn’t mention in the book,” Dave told him. “I suspect a man like you never shares all his secrets.”
They subsequently became friends. And he did indeed give Dave many more survival tips.
Dave bought most of his construction materials at Swenson’s, including the hardware for his trap doors and the wiring for his battery backup system.
Over the course of a typical year he shopped there a dozen times or more.
And he remembered, at the register, they had small refrigerators full of sodas and energy drinks.
The refrigerators were probably restocked by a local beverage company.
But then again, maybe not.
Maybe if he opened up the trailer and climbed aboard it, he’d find a whole pallet of PowerAde.
Probably not, but one could dream.
And he sure could use a couple of PowerAdes about now.
He went to the trucker’s tool box and peered inside.
Some truckers carried bolt cutters, but this one didn’t.
He did, however, find a very long pry-bar.
With it he was able to break the lock, then the metal seal. He tossed the bar aside and rolled open the trailer door.
And smiled.
There was no pallet of PowerAde.
No bottled water either.
But there, on the last pallet loaded, was something better.
It was a pallet of men’s racing bicycles.
He didn’t even remember Swenson’s selling bikes.
But there they were.
The bikes were minimally assembled at the factory, meaning the tires were pre-inflated and already attached.
The only assembly Dave had to do was to install the handlebars and the seat.
And he found the tools he needed in the driver’s tool cubby.
He hadn’t ridden in awhile and was a bit wobbly at first.
Especially since he had to abandon his baby stroller and stuff all his provisions into his backpack.
And it was very heavy.
Add to that the rifle he carried across his back and the holster he kept kicking with his right leg with each turn of the pedal.
He’d never win any races.
But the bike would give his sore and blistered feet a much needed rest.
And he’d cover a lot more ground than he was when he was walking.
By Dave’s estimation, the horse-drawn pickup was probably covering no more than fifteen miles a day. He hoped even less.
He hoped that the old man had troubles with his prostate and a weak bladder, as many older men do.
He hoped the bastard had to stop several times a day to relieve himself in nearby bushes.
He hoped they had a habit of taking leisurely afternoon naps and going to bed early, then sleeping until mid-morning the next day.
All those things would slow their progress.
When Dave started walking he set a goal of twenty miles a day. It wasn’t the eighty to one hundred miles a night he was making in the Explorer. But as long as he traveled more miles each day than the kidnappers, he’d eventually catch them.
Sometimes he made his twenty miles, sometimes he didn’t. But deep in his heart he knew he was gaining ground on them.
Now that he had wheels again, such as they were, he set a new goal of forty miles a day.
It might be a bit ambitious. For when he tried to get up to speed he found he became winded. He was reminded he was getting older and wasn’t in the shape he once was.
Still, even at a more moderate speed he’d move faster than he did when he walked.
For the first time in days he was optimistic again.
Chapter 43
His optimism wouldn’t last, though.
Dave’s journey had been bumpy from the very beginning.
Every time he felt he was making good progress something would happen to knock him back again. He’d get robbed or shot at or encounter heavy rainstorms.
Or, in the case of his journey from San Antonio to Kansas City, he’d be brutally beaten and have to lie up and heal for several days before continuing on.
Two steps forward and one step back.
It was the story of his life, really.
His second day on the bike was nearing an end. The sun was starting to set and he was watching out for a sleeper cab to spend the night in.
He crested a hill and had an unencumbered view of the valley below.
He could quite literally see the roadway in front of him for five miles.
And there wasn’t a single truck in sight.
What he did see, however, was a roadside picnic area.
Travelers once upon a time pulled their cars and trucks and RVs into the area to get out and stretch their legs. Those with food made use of the picnic tables. Some even took the time to barbeque their meal at one of the dozen cast iron and stainless steel grills.
The holiday travelers were long gone now, of course.
But that didn’t mean the area wasn’t inhabited.
There appeared to be a large group of squatters there.
It was obvious to Dave they’d been there awhile.
There were a dozen tarps of all sizes and colors stretched between two adjacent picnic sites, to create a very bizarre-looking shelter. And there were several stand alone tents scattered about as well.
Parked outside the shelter were three bicycles and two tricycles. Two horses grazed nearby.
And out in front, sitting o
n folding lawn chairs, were several people.
It reminded Dave of the communes he’d seen in and around Albuquerque and other large cities he’d passed through.
They’d been here for some time. He could tell because many of the tarps were faded from the sun or ripped from the high desert’s frequent windstorms.
“Greetings, friend!”
He couldn’t see where the voice came from, but assumed it was calling to him.
“Hello,” he responded in kind. “I’m just passing through. I mean you no harm.”
“That’s good. We are a peaceful people who bother no one. We require the same from our visitors.”
The voice was from a man, now visible as he walked around a bright red tarp and into full view.
Dave noticed he was unarmed, then suddenly was sad. For it had become a world where he assumed any stranger he came across would probably greet him at gunpoint.
Or at least with a gun at the ready.
He stepped over to Dave and held out his hand.
“I’m Wayne,” the man said.
“Dave.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dave. Step off your bike and stretch. I’ll fetch you a bottle of water.”
“No thank you, sir. I have water and food. What I don’t have is information. I was hoping you could help me.”
“Oh? Well, I’ll certainly try.”
“I’m looking for my daughter. She’s eight years old now. She was taken by kidnappers a few months ago. They were heading in this direction, but I don’t know if they went this far before they turned off. I was wondering whether you’ve seen her.”
“Well, my friend, it’s a good possibility. We’ve been here for well over a year now. And while some people don’t stop to say hello to us, most do.
“Of course, identifying your daughter from the dozens of young girls we’ve encountered might be difficult without more of a description.”
“She’s absolutely beautiful, with flowing raven hair and the prettiest blue eyes. She’s precocious and spunky too, with a tongue that’s sharp as a tack.”
The man smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, well… no father ever describes his daughter in anything less than glowing terms. Every father I’ve ever met has described his daughter as beautiful and intelligent, never average looking or plain or of average intelligence.
“Now, I’m not saying that your daughter is anything less than you say she is. I’m sure your description is bulls-eye accurate.
“I just smile because to hear their fathers tell it, the world has no plain or ugly girls. Every single girl on earth is a beautiful and brilliant child.”
Dave got the joke.
“That’s true,” he countered. But then again, through a father’s eyes every one of his children is absolutely perfect.”
“Do you have anything that’s more specific?”
“Yes, I do. Not a more detailed description of my daughter, but rather of the vehicle they were driving.”
“They were driving a vehicle? My, that is unusual.”
“It was an old red pickup truck. The engine was removed and a wagon-master’s seat was installed in the engine compartment.
“It was being pulled by a team of two horses.”
The man’s puzzled look changed and he smiled again.
“Now I’ll have to insist, sir, that you step off your bicycle and stay for a bit.
“I understand you’re in a hurry to find your girl, but I think I can help you more if you will give me just a few minutes.
“You see, I have heard of such a vehicle. I didn’t see it myself, but rather was told it passed through. I don’t remember which of my people told of it, but if you’ll grant me a few minutes of your time I’ll ask around and find out.”
Dave stepped off his bike and said, “Thank you, sir. I very much appreciate your help.”
Two pretty girls came walking up from another area in the camp, one on either side of a young cowboy. They were giggling and teasing him about the size of his hat.
One of them saw Dave and broke away from the group. She approached Dave while trying in vain to straighten her wind-blown hair.
“Here comes Rebecca,” the man said. “She’ll help you get comfortable while I ask the others.”
He addressed the woman.
“Rebecca, honey… were you the one who told me of a red pickup which came through here not long ago, drawn by two horses?”
“No, Wayne. It wasn’t me. Sorry.”
“This is Dave. Get him a bottle of water and keep him company, will you? I’ll ask around and be back in a bit.”
“Sure. No problem.”
Rebecca ducked into a nearby tent and came back out with two bottles of drinking water.
She handed Dave one and he thanked her for it.
He sat down at a picnic table with a bench on each side.
Instead of sitting across from him, Rebecca sat next to him.
And very close.
At almost the same instant Dave’s attention was diverted to another scene: the cowboy who’d been walking with Rebecca and the other girl was back at his horse and getting ready to mount up.
But before he did so, he dug something out of his pocket and handed it to the girl.
She held it up to admire it.
It was a silver chain.
It suddenly struck Dave that he hadn’t stumbled across a commune like the ones he’d seen outside Albuquerque or Kansas City.
He’d stumbled across a roadside brothel, set up to cater to area cowboys and highway nomads with gold or silver in their pockets.
Many things had died when the blackout struck the world. But at least in southern California, the entrepreneurial spirit was still alive and well.
Chapter 44
Rebecca moved even closer to him. So close, in fact, their thighs were now touching.
She was pretty. And she smelled better than any woman he’d met since he left Kansas.
But he wasn’t interested.
Many men would be. Many men would be willing to trade whatever they had to spend time with her.
But Dave wasn’t one of them. Dave had never been unfaithful to Sarah and never would be. He’d had plenty of opportunities over the years. A certain type of woman throws herself at a man in uniform. And that’s especially true of a United States Marine.
But Dave was a man who took his wedding vows seriously. Until he drew his last breath, Sarah was the only woman for him.
He moved away from Rebecca. Not far enough to make a show of it, for he was a guest here and didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
But far enough away for her to get the message.
She laughed and teased him.
“Don’t worry. I won’t bite. Unless that’s what you want.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I’m just here for… information.”
She giggled and pretended to be indignant.
“Did you just call me ma’am?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“You said your name was Dave?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you, Dave?”
“Thirty nine. Why?”
“I’m younger than you. I’m twenty six. Please don’t call me ma’am.”
He was surprised, but tried not to show it.
If asked to guess her age, he’d have said forty. And he’d have been kind.
It occurred to him that the harshness of life since the blackout was aging everyone prematurely. Spending less time indoors and more time in the sun was baking everyone’s skin. Going to bed hungry at night was wearing on them physically.
Having to walk everywhere they went was running them into the ground.
Perhaps it was affecting some more than others.
As pretty as this woman was, he felt profoundly sad for her.
For as happy and carefree as she appeared to be, she was almost certainly living a very hard life.
> As hard as she had it physically, she almost surely struggled emotionally as well. With what she was doing, how she’d gotten there and her prospects for the future.
When maybe she wasn’t so pretty anymore.
Dave was certainly no expert. But he imagined the life of a hooker was similar in some ways of a model’s.
They’d become dependent on their being attractive as young women, and owed their success largely to their looks.
Then, as they grew older and they grew perhaps a bit less attractive, their luster started to fade.
And their business suffered as a result.
He started to wonder what would happen to this woman and others like her in the years ahead, when her customers began to shy away from her and started selecting younger women instead.
Then he shook the thought from his head.
That, he decided, was none of his business.
And it was possible that even entertaining such thoughts was disrespectful and rude to her.
It was possible that no man she’d spoken to on this particular day had shown her one bit of respect.
But Dave would.
“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I tend to throw around ‘ma’ams’ and ‘sirs’ when I’m around strange people. It’s just part of who I am.”
She wasn’t going to let it go.
“Oh, so now on top of implying I’m an old woman, now you’re saying I’m a strange person as well. Thanks a lot.”
“Not what I meant.”
“I know. I’m just teasing. You seem like a nice guy. Maybe if I’d met you at another place and time we could have gotten to know one another better.”
He smiled broadly.
“Perhaps.”
“And in case you were wondering, I’m not doing this because I like it, or because it’s my chosen career path. I’m doing it because I didn’t have a lot of options. I’m saving everything I make and plan to get out of the business in a year or two and retire.”
“I don’t judge people,” Dave said. “If I did I’d have to judge myself first, and I’ve got more flaws than anyone else I know.”
“I get that sense about you. I just wanted to let you know.”
Wayne came around the corner again, this time with another woman in tow.
This woman was older than Rebecca by several years. Or she suffered a much harsher life.
Payback: Alone: Book 7 Page 14