Bishop's Song

by Joe Nobody

  A few last minute items laid beside the bed. As Bishop carried them out, Diana and Terri embraced. “Nick and I will drive down to Meraton as soon as he gets back,” the mayor of Alpha promised.

  And then they were driving out of town, Terri fussing with the passenger seat’s controls. First, she moved the seat back to accommodate her extra girth, then readjusted it slightly forward to enable her to hear Bishop’s words with more ease. Next, she tilted the seat back to position herself best for the contractions. Once she managed the more reclining position, she realized she would probably relax more if she were able to enjoy the distractions she could see outside the truck if her seat were raised. Her final undertaking involved finessing the ride through proper engagement of the vehicle’s lumbar support in a last ditch effort to get comfortable. The expectant father rarely engaged his wife during the process, but quietly wondered how much more “adjusting” the seat’s controls could take.

  It was normally an hour’s drive to Meraton, but Bishop couldn’t keep his foot off the accelerator. Even before society’s collapse, the two-lane Texas highway didn’t see a lot of traffic. Post-SHTF, it had become even rarer to encounter another traveler. Now, with limited quantities of gas and diesel available, the nervous husband carefully passed the odd straggler now and then.

  Terri’s condition didn’t encourage him to abide by the speed limit. Three times during the journey his bride groaned and arched her back, grimacing in pain. The first two occurrences caused Bishop to question if the child was coming out right there and then. In a way, his naivety helped the tense situation, Terri managing a chuckle despite the pain. He decided to keep his peace during the third contraction.

  Twenty miles away from their destination, movement in the rearview mirror caught Bishop’s eye. He glanced up to see a police car, lights flashing, rapidly catching up with his pickup. Despite living over a year with scarce traffic enforcement, his heart jumped at the sight, immediately wondering if he was about to receive a speeding ticket. The concern quickly passed, realizing that the few serving deputies had much, much more important things to do than set up speed traps.

  The police cruiser passed Bishop, the deputy throwing a friendly wave as he went by. The lawman then pulled past, eventually settling in to provide an escort. “Jezzz, Terri. You’d think you were a VIP or something.”

  “That’s Diana,” his wife mused. “She must have called Sheriff Watts and told him we were on our way. How sweet.”

  “I dunno,” the driver retorted. “Maybe he’s just in a hurry to pick up some fresh produce at the market.”

  “Could be. Maybe he heard how I am eating for two and wanted to get in line first.” Terri chortled nervously, shifting her weight again to get comfortable.

  Before long, the outskirts of Meraton lined the horizon, the appearance providing the couple that warm feeling of returning home. The market seemed to be in full swing, dozens of trucks, horse-drawn wagons and saddled steeds lining the main road.

  Bishop turned off Main Street and made for the rear entrance of The Manor, the town’s only hotel and acting hospital. Much to the couple’s surprise, a welcoming committee flanked the back gate.

  Betty was the resort’s manager and had bonded with Terri the first night of the couple’s arrival after their harrowing bug-out from Houston. The older woman’s expression made it clear she was concerned about the impending birth, her relationship with the expectant mom closer to mother-daughter than either of the girls would admit.

  Pete, the town’s mayor and bartender, was there as well, bookended with two stout-looking lads who obviously had been recruited for some heavy lifting.

  As Bishop maneuvered to park the truck, he commented, “Do you think those two big guys with Pete are here to carry in our bags or you?”

  “Neither one, my love. I think Diana has been on the shortwave again. She probably told Pete how nervous you’ve been acting, so he asked them to be here in case you faint,” Terri teased.

  Without missing a beat, Bishop replied, “Yeah, you’re probably right. If they were here for you, they might need reinforcements.”

  Terri punched his arm in pretend anger, betraying the fact that she actually thought the comment was funny, but also recognizing her mate’s tendency for cornball humor in times of high tension.

  Bishop shut down the truck, hustling to the passenger side to help Terri safely maneuver her exit. Betty moved in close, anxious to put eyes on Terri and reassure herself that everything was okay. Just as Terri shifted her weight on the footboard to step down, a contraction racked her body.

  Bishop scooped her up before she even began to fall, cradling her like a baby and pivoting directly for the hotel’s gate. Terri, deciding it was useless to protest her ride, draped her arms around his neck and nuzzled his shoulder while she groaned and breathed through the painful cycle.

  “Room number 114,” Betty announced as she scrambled to keep pace.

  As the couple passed through The Manor’s famous gardens, Terri’s contraction passed. Coming up for air, she whispered, “I’m glad we’re here, my love. I’m glad our child will be born in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.”

  Bishop sensed what his wife was feeling and paused for her to look around. He had to admit, she was right. A full, mid-summer bloom was in effect, an array of color provided by flower and leaf washing over the one-acre enclave. Hummingbirds darted here and there, the tiny flyers enjoying a buffet unlike any other collection of plant life in the area. The perfectly manicured paths, fountains and walkways resonated with calm, projected relaxation.

  “You can put me down, Bishop. I can walk now, my hero.”

  “You sure?”

  Smiling, Terri nodded, not wanting to tell her husband that his cradle-carry was actually hurting her back more than helping her legs. She again kissed his cheek after he’d gently positioned her feet on the ground.

  Terri took her time meandering toward the room, moving to smell a rare bud, pausing to enjoy the soft brush of a fern frond. Bishop, wary of the inevitable, pending contraction, never left her side.

  Pete, after supervising the unloading of the couple’s possessions, joined Betty on the porch to watch the young couple tour the gardens. “I adore both of those kids,” he commented without taking his eyes away. “They’re in love and so good for each other. It just seems to spill over and make you feel like a warm, spring day inside. You know, I miss having that kind of feeling in my own life. I guess that is what we all are looking for,” he hinted. Standing alongside the innkeeper, he searched her body language after the comment for a flicker of recognition of his deeper meaning.

  Betty reached for a watering can and tipped its contents into a nearby clay pot. “You see people like that every so often in life. What they have doesn’t come along every day. You can tell; they’re just made to be together.”

  “This entire town wouldn’t be the same if they hadn’t showed up,” Pete observed, deftly steering the conversation to a more comfortable topic. “They both deserve for this baby to come into the world nice and easy. They’ve earned a break.”

  Betty looked up and nodded, her tone protective. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Mayor. My girl Terri will do just fine. You go tend your bar and watch over the market. I’ve got this under control. I promise I will keep you posted as things develop.”

  Camp David, Maryland

  June 7, 2016

  The Colonel strolled into the conference room a few minutes early, hoping to review his report one last time before presenting it to his boss, the president of the United States.

  Much to his chagrin, General Owens was already sitting at the table, his gaze focused at the large map presented across one wall of the large room. So much for having a few minutes alone.

  Looking up, the hero of the Battle at Scott’s Hill nodded and smiled at the Colonel. “I thought you might arrive early. How was your evening?”

  The Colonel didn’t answer immediately, proceeding to unload his
briefcase on the table and using the time to compile his response. “It was informative to say the least, General.”

  The officer didn’t respond at first, sizing up the older man before speaking. Finally, “I wanted to fill you in on a recent event before you brief the Commander in Chief. There’s been an incident at Fort Bliss that I thought you should be made aware of.”

  “In addition to our convoy being hijacked?”

  “Yes,” Owens replied. “When news of the ambush reached Bliss, General Westfield experienced a small rebellion. He put it down without resorting to arrests or violence, but the man is convinced he’ll lose his command if we can’t deliver food and other basic supplies soon.”

  “You’ve got to hand it to Bishop and Terri,” he said. “They are creative, and there’s definitely no lack of intestinal fortitude.”

  “I keep hearing and reading those names, but I’ve never had the pleasure,” the general commented. “Must be one hell of a team.”

  “I worked with Bishop before the collapse. He’s a stand-up guy with better than average skills in a fight. I also trust him. How our beloved army missed that one will always be a mystery, but he did his ROTC and then got out… maybe he was a late bloomer. Anyway, I tried to warn the president that it would be a mistake to underestimate what those people are capable of. They are months ahead of anyplace else in the country as far as recovering from the collapse. I know, over the last few weeks I’ve visited any place that even hinted at civilization. What I saw while I was out in West Texas actually warmed this old heart. There’s a society, government, rule of law and growth. The boss isn’t going to like this new turn of events at Bliss.”

  General Owens shuffled some papers on the table and then glanced toward the door to make sure the two men were still alone. In a low voice, he said, “He already knows, and you’re right... he’s not a happy camper.”

  A grimace crossed the Colonel’s face. “And I suppose there is no shortage of advisors working overtime on his ear, telling him he needs to lay down the law with those rebels out west.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what he’s thinking.”

  The Colonel stood and paced, finally settling near the map. After pretending to study it for a bit, he turned abruptly and whispered, “You and I both know the man is being pushed in that direction to cover up the failure of Operation Heartland. That whole thing is a fiasco, and West Texas is nothing more than a sideshow to divert his attention. Those people out there will fight. If anyone thinks for one heartbeat they won’t, that would be a mistake.”

  Nodding, Owens agreed. “He knows that as well. General Westfield has helped us convince the president of that fact. Still, I think most of the staff underestimates your friends. It seems like everyone around here is thinking of those folks out there as a bunch of country bumpkins.”

  “That would be a blunder… on so many levels. They just managed to move 300 tons of precious supplies from our side of the ledger to theirs. Is anyone else on our side? Is anyone else pushing for us to work with them, rather than against them?”

  Before the general could answer, the door flew open and the executive staff began filing into the room. The line of department heads, military officers and assistants was closely followed by Secret Service Agent Powell, and then the president.

  After everyone was seated, the chief executive called the meeting to order. “Colonel, I’ve read your preliminary report. Are you ready to submit the final version?”

  “I am, sir.”

  And with that, the Colonel began passing around copies of the 15-page document. After everyone had received a copy and settled in, the president cleared his throat to continue.

  “So our citizens in West Texas are producing electrical energy via a windmill farm. In addition, they have a refinery up and running, producing just at 500 barrels per day of product. They have expanded the irrigation system along the Rio Grande River, as well as initiated numerous small cultivation projects. Impressive… very impressive.”

  “I know a few members of their leadership, sir. They are doing an excellent job of integrating new people who relocate to the area, as well as expanding their infrastructure each week. In my opinion, they have recovered further than any other region of North America and are widening that gap every day.”

  Someone at the far end of the table snorted, mumbling, “By hook or crook.”

  The Secretary of Energy ignored the remark, “Amazing. I’ve been through that part of the country and there’s nothing but sand and barren rock… maybe a few head of cattle. It’s just stunning they’ve managed to put together what you claim in this report, Colonel.”

  The president looked around the table, noting most of the attendees were bent over their copies of the document, digesting the details. Addressing at the Secretary of the Interior, he asked, “Mike, have we run the numbers on what their output will do in meeting the goals of Operation Heartland?”

  At the end of the table, a young man looked up and replied, “Yes, sir we computed the estimates. If we utilize all of their output, we can advance our timetable by a little over 12%. In addition, we estimate their agricultural production will save approximately 100,000 lives.”

  The Colonel couldn’t keep the grimace off his face, addressing the secretary directly. “You’re planning on taking all of their food?”

  “No, no, no,” interrupted the president. “No one is proposing any such thing. We would leave that region with the bare minimum caloric intake, just like most other Americans are surviving on. They won’t eat as well as they are today, but no worse than the average American.”

  “Sir,” the Colonel started, staring hard at President Moreland. “I must inform you that I strongly oppose anything other than a trade relationship with those people out there. I know them, and if this government tries to seize any of their resources, they will resist by any means available. They demonstrated that with the convoy.”

  The Commander in Chief actually snorted, glancing up from his report. “Yes, Colonel, they’ve made their intentions clear. Asking for the surrender of a US Army base sends a well-defined message, attacking the convoy was the exclamation point. Still, having the will to fight and the capability are two different matters. Regardless of the political situation out there, my position is based on the moral high ground, not on some need or desire for conquest.”

  General Owens joined the conversation, “I’m not sure I follow, sir. Moral high ground?”

  It was the Secretary of Agriculture’s turn. “We have millions of starving citizens. The death toll is rising every day. I believe it would be immoral to let part of the country grow fat while others die of malnutrition.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly, sir,” Owens replied, his calm voice at odds with the obvious disdain behind his eyes. “But we can’t just go in and take what people have worked so hard to create. That’s not our way… that’s not in the constitution I swore an oath to.”

  The president sat back, observing the interaction. “Gentlemen, must I remind everyone that we are still in a state of martial law? We have both the legal and moral right to do the best for all of our citizens. The people of West Texas may experience an outbreak of smallpox next month. Wouldn’t everyone at this table agree to divert medical care to that region? Right now, they have more fuel and food than anywhere else in our land, and I for one believe we should utilize those resources in a way that provides the most benefit to the greatest number of people.”

  General Owens considered his commander’s words carefully before responding. “Sir, I’m with the Colonel on this one. Surely, we can come up with some method of barter or trade. Out military is stretched to the limit. Even a small scale fight would overtax our available resources and delay Operation Heartland even further.”

  “I agree,” the Colonel supported, “Their leaders would welcome barter or fair payment of some sort.”

  The Secretary of Energy responded, “Even if we did have something of value to trade, they would only sell
us a small percentage of what they are producing. I think it would be unwise to even attempt negotiations, especially given the number of people we are burying each day. Every pound of food is critical right now, and I won’t support any plan that has part of the nation fat and happy while others starve.”

  And so the debate raged for over an hour.

  It was General Owens who finally brought the issue to a head. “Mr. President, should I be drawing up plans to invade West Texas?”

  Bedlam broke out around the table. Already frustrated men began to raise their voices and use foul language. The Commander in Chief finally slammed his palm on the table to call order.

  “Gentlemen, this is getting out of hand!”

  After the outburst, only the gentle hum of the ventilation system could be heard in the room. Most of the men seated around the table looked down or away, not wanting to make eye contact with their peers, or the president.

  The general’s question had brought the issue to a head, Moreland weighing his options. Sighing audibility, the chief executive finally reached his decision, “To answer your question General Owens, no, you should not draw up plans to move troops into our own territory. There will be no invasion, or large-scale military action. Our people have suffered enough already. I’m going to send in a team to negotiate with the people of West Texas, and you, general, are going to head up that effort. This meeting is adjourned.”

  Chapter 2

  Meraton, Texas

  June 7, 2016

  “Give me my pistol, and I’ll end your miserable existence right now!” Terri growled, her eyes piercing into Bishop, wild with fire and anger… and pain. “You lowlife, worthless pile of shit. I hate you!”