by Joe Nobody
And Castro?
April didn’t like having to share her body with the man. It didn’t seem right to be forced into such an intimate act. Still, she had finally reached a point of reconciliation with it all. Hadn’t the hippies of the 1960s embraced the free love movement? Weren’t there cultures all over the globe who viewed sex as a natural biological function rather than an act between two emotionally connected people?
When she considered how many pre-collapse societies had embraced arranged marriages or sanctioned concubines and multiple spouses, Castro’s occasional needs didn’t seem all that immoral or intrusive.
Sleep finally came, April’s rose-colored justification of her situation once again allowing her to drift away.
The convoy reached the checkpoint just over 100 kilometers away from the rendezvous coordinates. McCarthy had warned Bishop that the Mexican suppliers occasionally erected such security measures along the roadways. “You’ll know they are friendly if they’re flying a solid green flag,” the U.S. representative had stated with certainty.
When the scout pickup had reported several vehicles blocking the road, Bishop had again called for the truckers to halt and take a defensive posture.
Sure enough, there was a green flag waving in the late afternoon breeze.
This barricade was a far more sophisticated implementation than their previous encounter. In addition to proper execution, it had been well planned.
There was nowhere to flank the blockade, both the eastern and western approaches offering clear fields of fire for several hundred meters. It was a far more professional and highly effective placement.
Bishop was reasonably sure he was studying McCarthy’s suppliers – the people who were to host the convoy and load the freight. Still, the Texan approached with caution.
“Let me borrow your bike,” Bishop directed Butter.
Riding solo to a spot within a hundred meters of the barricade, Bishop dismounted the motorcycle and paced slowly toward the curious group of men manning the checkpoint. He stopped well short and stood calmly in the road.
A few minutes passed before a lone man left the blockade and strode toward the Texan.
“Are you with the Yankee convoy?” he shouted in perfect English.
“Yes,” Bishop responded. “The trucks are a few miles behind me.”
“You can pass. We’ve been expecting you.”
With that, the Mexican turned back toward the obstruction and began shouting orders. Bishop watched as at least a dozen, armed men began climbing aboard the assortment of farm trucks and old pickups. He heard several engines roar to life, and a minute later the road was cleared.
“They appear to be friendly,” Bishop broadcast into his mic and then added, “but I want at least one of the automatic weapons on them the entire time we’re passing through.”
The convoy continued without incident, Bishop noting that the locals closed off the road again after the last semi had passed.
An hour later, they arrived at the designated rendezvous point, a tiny, long-abandoned village in the middle of what was obviously an especially lush, agricultural region.
Terri couldn’t help but gawk at the contrasting green that surrounded the convoy as they pulled into the gravel lot of what had been the settlement’s church. “Look at all these crops. They’re beautiful. I’ve not seen fields like this since before the collapse.”
Bishop had to admit it was impressive.
For as far as the eye could see, the hills were covered with neat, emerald rows of various plantings. The scale of the operation was massive, and in an odd way, the sight was uplifting.
There was so much life springing from the earth, the rich, dark soil thick with the promise of a future. “This makes the farms along the Rio Grande look puny,” he observed. “No wonder they’ve got excess groceries to sell.”
After making sure his assets were properly positioned, Bishop instructed everyone to eat and rest while they had the chance. “As soon as we’re loaded, I want to turn around and head back north.”
It was just under an hour after their arrival that an old, rusted pickup approached from the south. The lone driver was an older man and unarmed. Bishop and Terri headed to the perimeter to meet the visitor.
After a quick round of introductions, the local delivered some bad news. “We were told not to expect your arrival until later today. Your produce is still being loaded onto our trucks. It will be morning before we can exchange your empty trailers for our full units.”
The Texan didn’t like what he heard but had few options. Spending the night wasn’t on his itinerary, yet with the post-apocalyptic world’s lack of communications, it was easy to see how the delay could occur.
The messenger seemed to sense Bishop’s uneasiness. “Don’t worry, Señor. No one will bother you here on the plantation. You are very safe on the estate.”
After watching the messenger drive away, Bishop winked at his wife and asked, “How many times have we heard that before?”
Chapter 8
Butter had no complaints about his duties or workload. It was simply part of being on the teams, and that was well worth the hardships. Sure, having to pull guard duty after spending the day on the motorcycle was a pain, but getting to work with men such as Bishop and Grim was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, being a member of a SAINT team really wasn’t all that much harder than working a fence line or roundup back on the ranch.
As he patrolled the outer perimeter, he paused and scanned the landscape with Bishop’s infrared. It was an amazing technology, turning the dark night into day and virtually guaranteeing that no one was going to approach unnoticed. His back might be sore from eight hours on the dirt bike, but where else would he get to use such cool tools?
Butter heard Grim’s voice in his earpiece. “All quiet on the western front?”
“No movement, sir,” reported the former ranch hand.
“Kevin will be out to relieve you in 30 minutes. One of the truck drivers threw together a pretty good hobo stew. You can have your fill when you report back to camp,” continued Grim.
“Thank you, sir. I am getting hungry.”
“When aren’t you hungry, Butter?”
A year ago, “the kid,” as they called him, would have tried to answer the senior man’s question. Now, after working with Bishop and the guys, he knew that Grim really didn’t expect an answer. “See you in 30, sir.”
He continued traversing through the ruins of the old village, his eyes and ears constantly seeking any noise or movement that didn’t belong to the still night.
He passed a pile of rubble, a small mountain of oddly shaped bricks and timeworn mortar that had probably been a barn or stable of some configuration. For a moment, Butter wondered why the small community had ceased to exist. He quickly decided that he would probably never know.
After a dozen more steps, he again raised the infrared and scanned the field that bordered the western side of the ruins. His heart practically stopped as the distinct red shape of a woman appeared in the monocle.
Whoever she was, the woman was still a considerable distance away and not venturing directly toward the convoy’s encampment. She might be a farmworker or a local just out for a late evening stroll. Reaching for his mic, he started to report the contact but then changed his mind. A lone, unarmed female wasn’t any threat. Why get Mr. Bishop and the guys all upset over nothing?
Just in case, the big man swept the area with the scope, making double sure that no one else was with the woman in the field. There were no other heat signatures.
He returned to watching her, noting her random path through the rows of some thigh-high crop that was unfamiliar to the youth from Texas. One of the truck drivers had said it was a variety of bean, but no one was really sure.
Seeing the female silhouette through the eyepiece reminded Butter of May. He wondered briefly what she was doing at the moment, a thought which sent his mind racing. He had decided to see if she would
come back to Alpha with him. He was sure she wouldn’t leave her mother but wanted her to know how much he liked her company. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. Would it?
As the woman walking across the field drew nearer to his position, Butter shook his head to clear the thoughts. The subject in his scope looked like May in shape and movement. “You need to focus on your work, dude. You’re thinking way, way too much about that pretty girl back at the lake.”
But he couldn’t shake the similarities. The image of the now-closer woman was the exact same proportions as May. Her hair was the same length, her breasts had the same seductive curve. “Are you losing you mind, Butter?” he asked himself.
The girl’s proximity now left him no choice. She had meandered too close now. He would have to challenge her. “Who goes there?”
The sound of his voice clearly startled the woman, who froze instantly and then remained still. “I’m looking for the convoy from Texas,” she explained.
Butter was now sure he’d lost his marbles. This woman even sounded like May. “What is your business here, ma’am?”
“Butter? Butter, is that you?”
It was May! He couldn’t believe it. What was she doing here? How did she …. When ….
“May, is that you?”
“Oh, God, Butter. You don’t how glad I am I found you. It’s a miracle. I swear it!”
She came in now, moving faster toward the sound of his voice. A moment later, she was wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her head into his chest.
“May, what in the world are you doing? How did you get here?”
“It’s my sister, April. Right after the convoy left, a stranger came by the marina and delivered a message about her. She’s being held against her will, being forced to work on this plantation. I took a chance and borrowed a friend’s truck and tried to catch up with you and got lost. I didn’t know who else to ask for help. I ran out of gas about two miles over the next hill and was wandering … trying to find the main road, hoping I would hear or see the trucks. Oh, Lord in heaven, I’m so glad I found you.”
It was all too much for Butter, his head reeling at her story. He reached for his mic, knowing Mr. Bishop wouldn’t mind being disturbed given this turn of events. May stopped him, gently putting her hand on his arm and saying, “What are you doing?”
“I need to report this, May. Bishop and Terri will want to know about your sister and the fact that you’re in Mexico.”
“But you’ll get in trouble. You said what you told me about the convoy was a big secret. Won’t Bishop be mad if he finds out you told me where you were going?”
Butter instantly understood the quandary, and silently cursed his big mouth. May was right. He had told tales out of school, and loose lips did sink ships.
“You still awake out there, Butter?” Grim’s voice piped over the radio and caused the big man to jump.
“All’s well, sir. Is there still some of that stew left?”
“No problem, kid. Kevin is strapping on his gear. He’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t shoot him by mistake.”
“Yes, sir.”
Returning his attention to May, Butter said, “You need to get out of here before my relief shows up. Can you meet me in 15 minutes over by the church steeple?”
May scanned the area, the outline of the tallest structure in the area clear in the moonlight. “I suppose. Aren’t there sentries?”
“Yes, there are. I will flash a red light three times when it’s safe for you to cross that open area on the other side,” he said, pointing toward a fence line less than 100 meters away.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll see you there.” Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed Butter on the cheek and then melted away into the night.
A few minutes later, Kevin called out, “Coming in.”
“Clear,” Butter answered.
The two SAINT members discussed the route Butter had been following. Then, as he made to start his patrol, Kevin said, “Hey, can you leave that infrared with me? I’m sure Bishop wouldn’t mind.”
“Sure. No problem. Did you bring any batteries? These are getting low.”
“Shit. No. I forgot.”
“You want me to pop in a couple of fully charged batteries and bring it back to you?”
Kevin thought about his friend’s offer. “Naw. It’s pretty bright out tonight, and you said it had been really quiet. I’m cool without it.”
“Up to you, dude. I’ll be glad to run it back out here.”
Kevin briefly reevaluated the suggestion. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t like carrying around the extra weight anyway. I’m good.”
“Later then.”
“Later.”
All the way back to camp, Butter fought the most intense mental battle he had ever experienced. He was so excited to see May, yet waves of guilt raked through his core. Realizing the seriousness of the situation stemming from his breach of security protocols made his stomach hurt. He wanted to tell Bishop what he had just learned yet didn’t want to confess his sins. Would the man he idolized ever forgive him? Would anyone on the team ever trust him again?
“Bishop and Terri trust you with their only son,” he scolded himself. “What were you thinking?”
He could just hear Grim’s blistering criticism. “A short skirt with a pretty face sashays by the boy, and he just loses his mind. Running off at the mouth like that could have gotten a lot of people killed. We don’t need men like that on the teams.”
Yet, May was so much more than just another pretty girl. She was special, made him feel wonderful inside and was unlike anyone else he’d ever met. Didn’t Bishop share secrets with his wife? Didn’t a lot of people know where the convoy was going and what route it was going to take?
The conflict continued to rage as Butter made his way into the camp, a large fire still burning in the center of an area now completely walled in by 18-wheelers. Fortunately, given the late hour, most of the drivers had retired to the sleepers and not many people were around.
Grim, however, was waiting on his returning teammate. “The stew is over there, kid. I recommend you break out your mess kit and fill that bottomless pit you call a stomach. I have a feeling you’re going to need all of your strength in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to catch a little sack time before I relieve Kevin in a few hours. I suggest you do the same after you eat. Nite.”
“Nite, sir.”
Butter made a show of filling his plate with the lumpy liquid, but he wasn’t hungry. As soon as he was sure Grim had retired, he tossed the stew under the wheel of a trailer and then headed toward the church tower.
Kevin’s patrol route wasn’t hard to detect, especially given the fact that Butter had just toured the same basic path for two hours. As soon as he was sure his teammate was at the far end of his circuit, the big Texan pulled out his flashlight and blinked the signal to May.
A minute later, she was again in his arms.
Butter found a hidden corner in the skeleton-like frame of the old church where they could huddle and talk without being discovered. The stone floor and walls were cold, but neither of the hideaways seemed to notice.
“You have to help me rescue April,” May began. “With your size and gun, it should be easy. The stranger told me where she was being held and said there was only one guard. We have to get her out of there.”
Butter was sympathetic but skeptical. “How do you know this man was telling you the truth?” he asked. “And even if we did get her out, how are you going to get home?”
May had to think about that for a moment. “Could you borrow a little gasoline from the convoy? If I could get just enough to get most of the way home, April and I could walk back the rest of the way.”
“It’s way, way too dangerous to try and get her out with just two of us,” he said, shaking his head. “And even if we did manage to set her free, there’s no way I can carry enough gas to get you home. That means
two women walking across Mexico by themselves, and that is out of the question. We ran into roadblocks and bushwhackers on the way here. This isn’t a very safe country. You’re lucky you didn’t end up like your sister.”
The disappointment that crossed May’s eyes nearly tore Butter’s heart out of his chest. “Yes,” she admitted in a sad whisper. “You’re right. I’m sorry I’ve gotten you into this, but I just had to try and set my sister free. I’ve not seen her for over two years. I had to do something.”
Butter tried to cheer her up, “Look, I have to tell Mr. Bishop what’s going on. I’m sure he or Miss Terri will come up with some way to get April out and back home. She’s a citizen of Texas, and we take care of our own.”
May became desperate, “But what if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to risk pissing off the U.S. or is so mad at you that he refuses to get involved?”
“Mr. Bishop’s not like that, May. He’s the best man I know. He and Miss Terri will help, I just know they will.”
She turned away in disappointment, whispering, “I’m sorry, Butter, but I’ve seen so many people in authority do the wrong things since the collapse. I just can’t trust anyone these days. There has to be a better way.”
Her distressed, emotional state was like a knife ripping through Butter’s soul, a pain unlike anything he’d ever felt. For several minutes, they simply sat and held each other, trying to figure out a way forward.
Finally, Butter stiffened with an idea. “I suppose we could sneak off and scout where April is being held. Maybe it will be easy to get her out. If we showed up back here with your sister in tow and explained to Bishop what was going on, he would at least have to take her back with us.”
May brightened instantly. “You would do that?”
“Sure,” he shrugged. “It won’t hurt to at least go scope it out. The one thing I’ve learned about Mr. Bishop is that he likes to know exactly what he’s getting into. He hates surprises.”