“I remember – he was shot six times by Charleston law enforcement but still managed to put five cops in ICU, beating them with his bare hands, and that was after he was shot. There was footage of the fight he put up, built like an NFL lineman – huge son-of-a-bitch. Isn’t he some kind of white power, neo-Nazi piece of shit?” What in the hell would you want with him?”
The doctor’s mouth erupted into an oddly wide smile.
“I intend to put him to work, Admiral. He possesses a particular set of skills I think will prove most beneficial to our cause. I expect him to be released and delivered to a location of my choosing by tomorrow.
The admiral retreated into his own thoughts, once again bored by whatever plans Sage had in mind. He turned toward the conference room door.
“Fine, he’ll be dropped off wherever you like. If he goes on another rampage, don’t look to me to clean up the mess.”
The doctor stood up as he watched Admiral Briggs leave the room, the broad smile still fixed upon his abnormally thin face.
“Your help is most appreciated, Admiral.”
The door closed without the admiral giving a response.
--------------------
EPISODE TWENTY-TWO:
Dammit!
The RV was finally giving up the ghost, its fuel tank entirely empty, the small diesel engine sputtering to an all too permanent halt on a seemingly abandoned road some twenty miles east of Orofino, Idaho.
Sabina Markson couldn’t help but wonder if she should have risked heading into Orofino in the hopes of finding someone willing to help them refuel.
“What now, Mom?”
Jackson sat in the passenger seat, his eyes straining to see the road in front of them as the RV’s headlights flickered and then dimmed once the engine shut down completely.
His mother shook her head as she forced herself to remain calm, not wanting to further worry her children after the frightening events that took place back in Pullman.
“We’ll be ok, Jackson. Go check on your sister.”
Jackson did as he was told, sharing his mother’s concern for Mika. The teenaged girl had remained curled up in the back bedroom of the RV since they had fled Pullman.
Sabina stoop up from the driver’s seat and shut off the RV’s headlights, not wanting to draw down the battery. She picked up the hunting rifle that sat propped near the door and then stepped outside. Bosco joined her, his tail wagging slowly as he lifted his nose to smell the cool, night air.
Darkness enveloped the entirety of the road both in front and behind them. Rows of pine trees moved gently as a soft breeze whispered past where Sabina stood as she contemplated what her family’s options were.
Bosco issued a soft bark and then wagged his tail with more enthusiasm as he stared at something within the woods that bordered the right side of the road.
Sabina gripped the hunting rifle more tightly and peered into the gloom trying to see what had caught the Golden Retriever’s attention.
“What is it, boy?”
The dog peered up at Sabina and then returned to looking into the darkness as his tail continued wagging. A thin line of drool was hanging from his lower lip.
That is when the scent of cooking food being carried upon the faint breeze reached Sabina’s nose. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment.
Bosco barked again and then whimpered. He was hungry too.
Sabina’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness by then so that she was able to make out a single, flickering light peeking out from between the trees some two hundred yards from the road. The eerie cry of a solitary owl called out from the night, making the single mother of two instinctively tighten her grip upon the rifle.
She struggled with the decision to check out the source of the light to see if it represented potential help, or stay put in the RV until morning and then continue down the road on foot.
If we are walking we won’t be able to outrun trouble.
Sabina decided then that if there was any way for them to keep using the RV, that was the choice to be made – and that meant making her way into the woods to find out where the light was coming from.
“Jackson, come out here please.”
Sabina’s son emerged from the RV almost as soon as his mother made the request. She realized a new maturity had overtaken his face since their escape from Bellingham, a wariness that went well beyond his actual years.
“Yeah, Mom what do you need?”
“I want you to stay here with your sister. Take the rifle, close the door and lock it. I’ll be back soon. If there’s trouble, just honk the horn.”
Jackson’s eyes widened slightly, alarmed by the idea of his mother going off in the darkness alone but then he pushed aside that concern, realizing his job was to do what his mother asked of him.
“Ok. How long will you be gone?”
Sabina looked into the woods and then back to her son.
“Shouldn’t be any more than fifteen or twenty minutes. You see that light flickering over there?”
Jackson followed to where his mother was pointing and then nodded.
“Yeah.”
“That’s where I’m going, to see if there’s anyone over there who might have some fuel we can use.”
Jackson gave his mom a quick hug and then took the rifle she handed him.
“Be careful, Mom.”
Sabina nodded once and then disappeared into the gloom, shouting a reminder as she slipped between a nearly identical pair of pine trees.
“Lock the door, and take Bosco with you.”
The forest had a pleasant, dry woodsy scent. The ground beneath Sabina’s feet was firm, a combination of compacted dirt, pebbles, and dried pine needles. She crept as quietly as possible, hoping to spy the light’s location long before anyone else could see her doing so.
The owl issued its lonesome hunting cry from somewhere just above Sabina’s head, its close proximity startling her.
Keep it together, Sabina, it’s just a damn bird.”
She crept another twenty yards into the woods and then found herself standing upon a narrow gravel driveway. She peered into the darkness and relocated the same flickering light she had seen from the road. She also received a much stronger whiff of whatever someone was cooking, the smell causing her mouth to begin watering.
There’s a house.
The structure was not so much a house but rather a small, dilapidated cabin with a single window from which a candle could be seen burning from inside. Taking a slow, measured breath, Sabina pushed aside her fear and began walking toward the cabin’s front door.
“Well hello there, I thought I heard someone walking about outside. Can I help you?”
Sabina cried out as she whirled around to locate the source of the voice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was walking Clyde here and heard you coming down the drive.”
Clyde was a nearly blind, twelve-year-old white and brown Basset Hound. The dog’s owner appeared old as well, a grey-haired Hispanic man with badly stooped shoulders and a pair of very kind, dark brown eyes.
“My name is, Father Antonio Garcia. This is my home. Are you traveling alone?”
Father Garcia held a small LED lamp in his slightly trembling right hand which illuminated his deeply lined face. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a black wool sweater, both of which appeared to be in need of a good cleaning.
Sabina realized she was still staring at the old man and hadn’t yet responded to his question.
“No, I’m not alone. My family is on the road over there. We…we ran out fuel.”
Father Garcia nodded his head while Clyde shuffled forward to sniff Sabina’s feet, no doubt smelling Bosco on them.
“Ah, I see. Not something one cares to do these days, am I right?”
Sabina remained vigilant, ready for any sign of trouble.
“Yeah, that’s right. Do you have any diesel we might use?”
It was the prie
st’s turn to look slightly suspicious.
“I might, but I hope you don’t intend to simply take it from me. I believe I can spare some, but not all of it. Do you mind my asking from where you’re running from?”
Sabina looked back toward the road and then down at the still sniffing Basset Hound.
“Pullman.”
Father Garcia’s expression grew serious as his mouth turned downward into a knowing frown.
“Ah, you need say no more. I was in that area not more than three weeks ago and it was already a terrible-terrible place. I can only imagine how much worse it is by now. Men acting like the most savage of animals. It is a godless hole. Count yourself fortunate to have made your way here! I assure you, young lady, you have nothing to fear from me. You have my word.”
Clyde was looking up at Sabina while wagging his tale slowly from side to side. The priest smiled.
“He’s an excellent judge of character! Are you hungry?”
Without thinking to do so, Sabina found herself nodding her head.
“Yes, I have two teenaged kids with me…and a dog. My name is Sabina.”
The priest smiled, revealing an age-yellowed set of somewhat ill-fitting dentures.
“Did you hear that, Clyde? You have a visitor as well!”
Father Garcia, still sensing Sabina’s uncertainty, attempted to calm her fears.
“I tell you what, Sabina. I’m going to go back inside and prepare dinner for all of you. If you feel up to it, you and your family are welcome to return to my home as my guest. If you don’t wish to do so, I understand. You can remain in your RV and then we can discuss getting you some fuel in the morning. It’s entirely up to you.”
Sabina found herself struggling over another decision.
“Do you live alone here?”
The priest nodded.
“Yes, it’s just me and Clyde.”
Sabina’s stomach growled its impatience as the food inside the small cabin made its presence known yet again.
“Ok, Father Garcia, I’ll be back with my family. Thank you for the invitation to eat with you.”
The priest appeared excited at the prospect of dinner guests.
“Ok, I’m off to set the table! See you soon, Sabina! Here, take my lantern. It gets quite dark out here especially when the clouds hide the moonlight. I wouldn’t want someone getting hurt.”
Several minutes later found Sabina leading her son and daughter toward Father Garcia’s cabin using the light of the lantern he had given her to guide their way.
“You sure this is a good idea, Mom?”
Sabina shared her daughter’s discomfort while also sensing there really was nothing to fear from the old priest.
“He seems harmless, Mika, and he says he might have some diesel fuel he can give us.”
Jackson took a deep breath and then grinned.
“Oh, man that smells good!”
Bosco was licking his lips as the Golden Retriever realized a good meal likely awaited him as well.
Sabina knocked lightly on the cabin’s hand-carved front door. It was almost immediately opened by Father Garcia who stood with Clyde looking at his newly arrived guests and then motioning for them to come inside.
“Hello! Hello! I apologize for the mess in here. I live alone and haven’t had to worry about visitors for some time.”
The Markson family paused to take in the somewhat crowded but comfortable surroundings of the cabin interior. The floors were aged wood planks, as were the walls. The ceiling was open at the top, giving the room the appearance of being somewhat larger than it actually was. The furnishings appeared to be nearly as old as the cabin itself: a worn and faded leather couch, matching chair, a simple four-legged wood coffee table, and just behind the couch a similarly styled dining table with four mismatched, chipped-paint wood chairs of varying colors.
Lighting was provided by a number of candles burning throughout the room, including one that was near the front window which was giving off the same light Sabina had initially spotted from the road outside.
The back right corner was where a single-burner propane stove sat atop a simple plywood countertop. On that burner was a large metallic pot from which the delicious aroma of a well-cooked meal originated.
Bosco issued a soft huff as his tail began to wag with greater enthusiasm as he agreed to an inspection by Clyde’s nose. The basset hound’s own tail showed his approval of the new canine arrival and soon both dogs were following one another around the room like long-lost friends.
“Right this way, everyone. Find a place at the table.”
Sabina led her kids to the dining table and then all three sat down, leaving an empty chair at the opposite end of the table and then she introduced her two children to the priest.
“Father Garcia, this is Jackson and Mika.”
The priest gave a warm, friendly smile and then bowed slightly to the two teenagers.
“Welcome, Jackson and Mika. I am honored to have you dine with me tonight. Oh, let me get you your bowls. We’re having stew. I hope that’s alright.”
Jackson began rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the meal.
Soon all four were seated at the small table with a bowl of hot rabbit and vegetable stew in front of them.
“Everything in your bowls is fresh. The rabbit was skinned yesterday and the carrots and onions were gathered this morning. The broth is beef stock that is a recipe from my mother. She actually grew up in Pullman, having arrived there as a young migrant worker from Guatemala some eighty years ago, God rest her soul.”
Jackson had already finished his first bowl of stew and sat wondering if he would be able to have a second. Father Garcia noticed the waiting teenager and rose from his chair with a grateful smile.
“I’m happy to see you enjoying the meal, Jackson. Let me re-fill that bowl for you! There’s plenty!”
Over the course of the next hour the seventy-three year old Father Garcia shared more of his personal history. Sabina, Jackson, and Mika sat quietly and listened to stories of his time as a young priest along the Arizona-Mexico border, his eventual desire to return to the Northwest, and the small Catholic school he supervised outside of Lewiston, Idaho for many years until it burned down three years ago. After the fire he retired from his day-to-day church duties and relocated to the hunting cabin that had been in his family for several decades and where he had come to often both during the winter and summer months as a boy. When he spoke of the Race Wars, the priest’s voice became little more than a sandpaper-hush as he stared down at the table and then closed his eyes.
“We have fallen far from God’s grace. A people divided, is a dangerous thing and these are indeed very dangerous times.”
Sabina silently noted that as the priest was speaking he touched very little of his food and that when he again rose to gather the bowls and place them in a round, galvanized metal tub that sat atop the counter and served as a kitchen sink, Father Garcia suddenly stopped and winced as if gripped by great pain.
“Are you ok, Father?”
The priest grunted and then nodded his head before leaving two of the bowls on the floor for the dogs to lick clean.
“Yes…I’m fine.”
Father Garcia again paused in front of the metal tub and then turned around, his lean, deeply lined face openly showing a terrible fatigue that had not been there moments earlier.
“I apologize, that is not true. The fact is, I’m dying. That is partly why I invited you to dine with me tonight.”
Sabina’s body tensed as she instinctively prepared to protect her children from any potential threat. The priest sensed her quick-to-return suspicions and held up both hands to indicate he meant them no harm.
“Please, I assure you, my condition has nothing to do with your safety here in my home. You indicated you need fuel. I can provide that to you, but I also ask a favor.”
Sabina remained on edge.
“What do you want from us?”
The pr
iest returned to the table and slowly lowered himself into the chair.
“As I said, I’m very ill. I was to have died months ago but for some reason…here I am. Stomach cancer, it was discovered shortly after I moved here. They operated, gave me chemotherapy, radiation, another operation, and then told me it was too invasive. It had spread to my liver, my pancreas, and the lining of my intestines. Lately I have grown increasingly concerned about Clyde’s well being once I’m gone. I fear dying in this cabin with him having no way out. He would be trapped. I can’t let him outside, he’d never survive alone. I have been praying for God to show me a solution and then here you are – the answer to my prayers.”
American Survivalist: RACE WARS OMNIBUS: Seasons 1-5 Of An American Survivalist Series... Page 27