But it wasn’t to be. The tall man was dead. The shorter man was mortally wounded.
He spoke for the first time, but was only able to get out a single word through a frothy and bloody mouth:
“Why?”
Gomez wasn’t inclined to answer the man, who wouldn’t have heard his explanation anyway.
As soon as he uttered the question he closed his eyes and died.
-7-
Duncan spoke for the first time as well.
His question was essentially the same as the dying man’s.
“Why in hell did you do that?”
Instead of answering, Gomez pulled the backpack off the tall man’s body, unzipped its main compartment, and dumped its contents onto the pavement.
There were two bottles of water and four cans of Vienna sausages. Two Snickers bars and a tiny box of Minute Maid raisins.
But that was inconsequential.
The rest of the booty was gold and silver coins and ingots, gold necklaces, diamond rings. And about a dozen bottles of prescription drugs.
The narcotic variety.
Duncan exclaimed, “Holy shit!”
Gomez removed the backpack from the second victim and dumped its contents onto the same pile.
It was more of the same, except that the second victim carried a bottle of whisky in his bag as well.
Duncan was confused. Even more so than he normally was.
“How in the world did you know?”
“Just a hunch,” Gomez said.
He squatted down and started going through his booty, tossing the food and water aside and focusing on the important stuff.
He explained, “When they went into that last truck and came out without any food or water, I wondered why. I mean, that truck is like this one. Loaded to the brim. There’s got to be at least one pallet of water on it. Maybe two or three.
“Surely there are several pallets of food on it too. Yet they came out with nothing.
“I wondered what they were scavenging for if it wasn’t food or water.
“Then it dawned on me. The only other stuff worth taking from these rigs is jewelry and medicine, guns and ammunition.
“I figured that’s what they had to be looking for. They were traveling light and eating as they went so they could cover more ground. They carried just a little bit of food in case they went several miles without seeing their next truck. And they’ve been picking the trucks clean of their valuables.”
“But how come? You can’t eat gold jewelry. You can’t drink it either. What the hell good is it?”
“Because, my dumb friend, the world won’t always be like this. Someday the world will be running again. But the dollar will be worthless forever.”
Gomez looked at him and could see his words weren’t registering. He might as well be talking to a wall.
“Even if the United States government wanted to bring back the dollar they couldn’t. They’ve lost all control of it. The banks have all been broken into and the cash has been stolen by stupid people who thought they could spend it again someday.
“Some of it’s been used as kindling to start fires. Hell, I’ve even used hundred dollar bills for toilet paper. It’s all worthless now. Every single dollar, no matter where it is, is worthless.
“The government knows that. They’ll have to create a new currency. They’ll have to call it a new dollar, or something else.
“The new currency won’t look anything like the old currency. The government will control it very tightly. The only way to get it will be to work for it. It’ll be just like the dollar was before the blackout.
“But gold and silver, and precious gems, they’ll always be worth big money because of their scarcity.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“That, my friend, doesn’t surprise me.”
He started rifling through the tall man’s pockets as he continued.
“Someday, Duncan, the world will start to get back to normal again. It may be next year, and it may be twenty years from now. But someday it’ll happen.
“These guys were smart. They were doing what we should be doing. They were gathering valuables, so that when the world turned sane again they’d be set. As the rest of the world was trying to get back to normal and make a little money to buy the things they needed, these guys would be living like kings.”
“So… they’d have nice jewelry and stuff while everybody else didn’t have any?”
Gomez looked at his friend and marveled. How could anybody be so absolutely clueless?
From the back left pocket of the tall man’s jeans, Gomez pulled out a small red scratch pad. Across the top the pad was held together with a coiled wire running the entire width of the pad.
He flipped over the red cover and scratched his head.
There were several pages of encrypted letters and numbers.
They seemed to be random, except that they ran in descending order. And on the top of each page was another cryptic number which seemingly had nothing to do with the rest of the numbers.
“Lemme see,” Duncan said.
Gomez knew there wasn’t a chance in the world the numbers would make any sense to Duncan, who could barely count to ten on a good day.
But he had nothing to lose. He handed the pad to Duncan while he searched the short man’s pockets. Maybe neither of the men trusted the other. Maybe they spilt their information between them. Maybe neither of them ever abandoned the other because they knew it would take both sets of numbers to crack whatever code they were dealing with.
Duncan’s eyes glazed over as he looked over the first page of the notepad:
20G
17
10
5
The second page was little better:
20A
141
90
46
17
Normally Gomez felt far superior to Duncan.
But this time he felt equally stupid.
-8-
They could have buried the bodies, but that would mean they had a civil bone between them.
They might even have dragged them off the roadway, at least.
But that would have been humane.
And they certainly weren’t that either.
It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of doing either.
It was just that they were pissed off. Pissed off at their victims for having the gall to make them have to figure out what the codes meant.
The nerve of them.
Gomez and Duncan would leave the bodies where they lay, even knowing the decaying corpses would begin to stink up the highway by the next afternoon.
Not to worry, though. They’d simply change their base of operations.
After all, one abandoned Walmart truck was just as good as another, right?
“Break down the tent and roll up the sleeping bag,” Gomez instructed his partner. We’re moving.”
While Duncan followed his instructions, Gomez started stuffing his victims’ treasures back into their backpacks. The tiny spiral note pad went into his own pocket.
Twenty minutes later they were just a bit farther up the highway, at the truck Gomez had seen the men enter through his binoculars.
“Set up the tent over there under the tree. Then gather some wood for a fire. And make sure it’s god damned dry this time. I’ll check out the sleeper.”
The plan from the beginning was for the men to take turns sleeping in the truck’s sleeper cab. It was dry, relatively comfortable, and wouldn’t have the mosquitoes that would make the tent sleeper’s night a bit less restful.
While Duncan pitched the tent, Gomez climbed into the sleeper, still chuckling at his partner’s stupidity.
Earlier in the day they had to decide who would get the sleeper on the first night.
“I’m just as good as you are,” Duncan righteously said. “I deserve it just as much as you do.”
To pacify him, Gomez said, “Okay, okay. We’ll flip a coin. You g
ot a coin?”
Duncan patted both pockets, then sheepishly said, “No, I ain’t got no frickin’ coin. Why the hell would I carry a coin anymore? What the hell am I supposed to buy with it?”
Gomez enjoyed a good chuckle at Duncan’s expense.
“I’ll tell you what. You pick a number between one and ten. I’ll pick a secret number, and whichever one of us comes closer to that number wins the sleeper for the night. Fair enough?”
“Duncan said, “What do you think I am, frickin’ stupid? You’ll just pick a number that’s closer than mine. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“Okay, then, how’s this? I’ll think of a secret number, then you choose your number. Then I’ll let you choose my number, just so you can’t say I cheated. Okay?”
“Hold on. You said I can pick your number too?”
“Yes.”
Duncan thought about it, and didn’t see any holes in the plan. After all, if he got to choose both numbers, it had to be legit.
“Okay.”
Gomez said, “Okay. I’ve chosen the secret number. Tell me your number first.”
“Four.”
“Okay. Now choose my number for me.”
“Eight.”
“Sorry, man. The secret number was nine. I’m closer, so I get the sleeper tonight.”
“Oh, damn it!”
As far as Gomez was concerned, it was like taking candy from a baby.
As they heated up two cans of Spaghetti-Os over an open campfire, the men pondered the meaning of the coded letters and numbers.
Duncan asked, “Do you think it might be in Morse code?”
“Dude, seriously? Do you even know what Morse code is?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s not Morse code.”
Gomez knew what it wasn’t. But for the life of him he couldn’t think of what it was.
He was awake half the night, staring at the ceiling of the sleeper cab, trying to figure it out.
-9-
Dennis Bryant wasn’t necessarily pleased that Red turned down his offer to bring the Texas Rangers into her case.
And he wasn’t necessarily surprised, either.
The ways of the old west were returning once again to the great state of Texas.
It had been close to a year since the lights had gone out. And despite the hopes and dreams of people around the world, despite all the people who prayed day to day that they’d come back on again, they weren’t going to.
At least no time soon.
A generation, perhaps, most experts agreed.
A full generation before they got the cars running again, the manufacturing plants once again producing goods, the people once again getting paid in exchange for meaningful employment.
A full generation before all the streets and highways could finally be cleared of the vehicles which couldn’t be repaired, so their new generation, EMP-resistant counterparts could roam the roads freely.
At least a full generation. No one really knew for sure.
One thing was for sure, though. Short of divine intervention, it was going to be awhile.
Pride had always run deep in Texas. It was the only state in the union which had once been its own country. It was the only state in the union which once had its own embassies in foreign lands. Proud Texans once made a point when in London to visit the old Texas Embassy. Once the seat of Texas bureaucracy in Merry Olde England, now an upscale restaurant.
At least until the world went dark.
Texas was the only state which could, by law, fly its flag at the same height as the American flag. A tribute to her heritage as a once-independent nation.
Texans are a prideful people.
A people who do not cotton to lawbreakers and bullies within their midst.
In post-apocalyptic Texas, ranchers were stringing up rustlers from the nearest tree. Horse thiev es were shot on sight.
Known child molesters and rapists were disappearing a few at a time and never being seen again.
Such were the ways of the old west, when citizens didn’t rely on God or the law to rid them of their problems.
They relied on their friends and trusted neighbors.
And upon their own determination of what was right and wrong.
And a willingness to snuff out the wrong, and those who’d wronged them.
Vigilantism was once again becoming an accepted way of life.
So Dennis Bryant didn’t particularly like Red’s decision to leave the law out of it.
But he understood it.
And he wouldn’t try to talk her out of it.
He simply said, “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. I see Rangers come through here every now and then. The Rangers developed a network of preppers with working radios around the state. I heard about it through another radio operator down south, near Laredo.
“He told me that’s how the Rangers communicate with each other now, and get their marching orders as they travel around the state.”
“I thought the Rangers were all stationed in Austin.”
“No, ma’am. They used to have small contingents all over the state, in the mid to larger sized cities. Now, though, they’ve all gone mobile. They’re all on horseback and they travel to wherever their headquarters dispatches them to. Generally trouble spots. Like Blanco, where law and order have ceased to exist.”
Red was fascinated. And tempted. But not so much so she’d change her plans.
“So… they just travel around the state catching bad guys and restoring order?”
“Yeah, pretty much. The fella near Laredo, he told me the Rangers HQ in Austin was soliciting the help of willing preppers with ham radios, and suggested I call them. I considered it my duty as a Texan and did just that.
“Now the Rangers have my ranch on a list of ham radio operators all over the state. Every Ranger carries the list in his pocket, and if one of them happens to be close by and needs to check in with Austin, they know they’re welcome to stop in and use my radio.
“So like I said, I see Rangers periodically who stop by. It’s no trouble to send one your way if you ever change your mind and want them to get involved.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bryant.”
“Dennis.”
“Thank you, Dennis. I’ll keep that in mind. But for now I think I can handle it myself. To tell you the truth, I’ve thought several times about riding down to Austin and talking to the Rangers myself. It’s only ninety miles from Blanco. About five to six days ride. But I don’t reckon they can help me much. Their hands are tied by rules of evidence and probable cause and all that other legal stuff.
“I’m not tied by any of that. I’m bound only to my own conscience and my sense of right or wrong.”
“Okay, my newest friend. But let me give you another option.
“You’re young. You may not be aware that evil breeds more evil. And that money buys everything if it’s offered to the right person. I think there’s a good possibility that your John Savage has been bringing in reinforcements in anticipation of your return. If it gets too hot for you in Blanco, you can come back here. The both of you. Come back here and I’ll help you as much as I can, or at least take you in while you regroup and reconsider your options.”
“Thank you, Dennis. I appreciate your concern. But Savage doesn’t know that I’m bringing my own reinforcement with me. Young Jacob. He saved my life once, a few days ago. I can count on him to do it again if my ass gets too close to the fire.
“But I’ll make note of your kind offer and may take you up on it.”
Dennis suddenly laughed.
“What?”
“You’re a hard-headed young lady, Red Poston. I recognize the trait from your father. Did he ever tell you how we met?”
“No. You didn’t meet on the ranch?”
“We flew together. In the Air Force. We flew the C-5 Galaxy. The biggest plane in the Air Force’s inventory. He was the pilot and I was his right-seater. His co-pilot. We had some great
times together.”
“Really? So how’d you become a rancher?”
“My dad died. I had no brothers. Only one sister, and she lives in New York State. She had no interest in running a ranch, and I didn’t have the heart to sell it. It had been in my family for four generations. So I took an early retirement from the military and moved back home.”
“Well, I’ll be. That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why Daddy always drove all the way here from Blanco, passing up ranch after ranch along the way. Ranches which had just as much beef as you’ve got. He always said it was because he could trust you. You always gave him a square deal.”
He laughed again.
“Red, when you were little and used to come with him, do you remember how he used to leave you alone in my den to watch television while he and I went to another room to do the sale?”
“No. I don’t remember that. Why?”
“He did that so you wouldn’t rat him out to your mom.”
“Rat him out? What do you mean?”
“Your daddy loved to play cards. And your mom hated gambling of any form.”
“Yes, I knew that.”
“Your daddy and I used to conduct our business behind closed doors. I’d quote him a fair market value for the two calves he picked up, and then we’d cut the cards. Double or nothing.
“He won most of the time. He was the luckiest son of a gun I ever met.”
It was Red’s turn to smile. She learned something new about her father she’d never known before.
“I hope you have the same luck, Red. I have a nasty feeling you’re gonna need it.”
“Thank you, Dennis. After my business is done, do you mind if I come back to visit? I’d like to hear more of your time with my dad. Both in the military and after.”
“Red, you’re welcome anytime. I look forward to seeing you again.”
-10-
In Blanco, an eight day ride from the Twisted Seven, John Savage was entertaining a guest of his own.
“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Sloan?”
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