by Bobby Adair
The mob moved on.
Chapter 17
When I got up to leave, my new scavenger buddies bounced to their feet to follow. I accepted their company. The three of them were a perfect disguise for moving around White-infested Fort Stockton. Well, out of it, really. The backup rendezvous with Grace and Murphy was set for a place northwest of town, out in the oil patch.
As my three new followers looked on with awe, I retrieved my machete from where I'd stashed it beneath the car, and then went about searching the hotel for shoes. They weren't hard to find, me not being picky about finding pairs. I had my followers carry them as we collected them, finally finding our way back to the car where I'd stashed my boots.
That’s when I took a gamble and put my boots on. With shoes in their hands, my followers did their best to mimic me. I had to help them with tying the knots. Then we were off, jogging north to get out of town.
Chapter 18
We followed Highway 285, passing the remains of a golf course, the Pecos County Sheriff's Department, and an airport. The Texas A&M Forest Service had a big metal warehouse-style building sitting beside the road. Why? I hadn't a clue. I hadn't seen anything that looked like a forest in years. Southwest Texas is a desert.
Building-wise, things thinned out considerably after we passed the forest service warehouse. I kept my pace, though, jogging, putting ground between me and Fort Stockton, heading into the desolate emptiness.
We'd gone maybe a mile or two more when I led my little entourage to squat in the shade of an awning extending from the front of a portable building that had served a long-forgotten purpose. We were all panting to catch our breath, and I was starting to devise how best to scrape them off now that their utility had run its course.
Murder?
I looked them over, squatting and watching me with faithful eyes, their new leader, a man with a blade. Their new alpha, their ticket to post-apoc prosperity.
Ugh.
I felt like a shit.
All three of them, two women and a man, had been perfectly normal people until the virus had baked away their higher brain functions. Now they were just trying to make the best of the lives they had. Apparently, part of that was following whomever around them seemed smarter than they were.
On a whim, I sat my machete on the ground, looked each of the whites in the eye, and then started to rub my belly. I had time to kill. I might as well have some fun.
All three copied me.
I then started to pat my head while continuing to rub.
The three struggled with it, got frustrated, looking from one to another, and then the most unexpected thing happen. One started to giggle, and they all burst out in laughter, and I laughed to.
I couldn’t kill them, no way.
I looked up the road. The meeting place was maybe another three miles out. Could I pick up the pace and just run them into the ground? Losing them when they finally gave up trying to keep up? What about bringing them back to Balmorhea with me? Were these three docile enough we could tame them, put them to work in the field, show them how to earn their keep? Could they be reintroduced to society in some subservient role?
I didn’t like where those thoughts led. There was no upside to building a plantation of brain-fried Russell types. It was time to run, and see if I could make them abandon me.
Chapter 19
Three miles later, I was exhausted, but I was alone.
I was standing at the corner of 285 and West Gomez Road, looking at a manufactured home standing there every bit as lonely as me. My entourage dropped off a few miles back and I couldn't see anything moving along the long flat road back toward Fort Stockton. Unfortunately, I didn't see the Humvee parked anywhere, though I could see for miles in every direction.
Looking up at the sun to guess at the time, I figured I was late. Grace, Murphy, and Jazz had come to wait for me and then left, which meant they'd swing back by again tomorrow before checking the place south of town we'd picked out.
I headed for the house and noticed that it hadn't fared well through three years of neglect. Windows were broken and shreds of curtain flapped in the tired wind. The skirting around the base was mostly blown away, and several sheets of aluminum were curled over and hanging off the roof. No cars sat outside. No sign of recent occupation existed. Hence, I decided to claim it as my own, at least for the night. Staying inside beneath the shreds of a blanket would be more comfortable than trying to keep myself from freezing to death out in the open.
As I neared the house, the front door swung open, and Murphy stepped out. “Where you been, man?”
“Tell me Grace and Jazz are on their way back to Bal.”
Murphy smiled. “You think I’d have stayed here to babysit you if they weren’t?”
No, but I still had to ask. “Tell me.”
“Man,” loosen up. “They’re on their way back. After we picked up Jazz, she told us what was going on. I figured you’d make your way here.” Murphy waved me to come inside. “Grace will be back in the morning to pick us up.”
Chapter 20
In the house I found a pair of old jeans cut for a waist ten inches wider than mine and an old belt to keep them cinched around my hips. I finished my outfit with a t-shirt, a flannel shirt, and a one-sleeved coat that I cut the other sleeve off of. It wasn’t stylish clothing by any measure, but it would keep me warm through the night.
Murphy and I broke the late afternoon and night into four-watch shifts. Neither of us had slept in 36 hours because we’d gone out the night before on a javelina hunt, so we both needed some sack time as soon as we could get it.
Murphy took the first 3-hour nap, and I watched the empty desert around the trailer slowly turn from dusk to dark as my worries for Steph multiplied. By the time we switched out, I was dead tired, and struggling to keep my eyes open. So I laid on a couch that didn't smell much worse than me, and in moments, I fell into a dreamless sleep.
Hours later, I awoke with sunlight on my face and sprang off the couch, knowing instantly that something was wrong.
From the kitchen, Murphy burst out in laughter.
“Dude.” I rubbed my eyes. “You didn’t wake me.”
Murphy, leaning in a chair and looking out a window that gave him a view of the road down to Fort Stockton, said, “You needed the sleep.”
“You did, too.”
"I figured I’d wake you when my eyelids got heavy." Murphy nodded to a cup on the table. "Found some coffee."
“You’re shitting me!”
Murphy shook his head and smiled again. "It's cold brew. You know, out of necessity." He pointed at the cupboard in the kitchen. "In that big mixing bowl over there. Pour some, if you want."
“Where’d you get the water?” I asked.
“Well out back. Took me a while to pump it, but it came out clear and cold.”
“You did that last night?”
“Wasn’t anything going on.”
I walked into the kitchen for a look through the big windows by the dining table. “It’s still early.”
“’bout 7:30.”
That felt late. “What time will they be here?”
“They probably headed out at first light.”
I did some rough math in my head, and figured they might arrive any time now. Or they might wait until later and show up at the originally agreed-upon rendezvous time.
“Man.” Murphy scooted his cup across the table to me. “Have some of this coffee. Lighten up. Steph will be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, man, but if that shit was gonna kill her, it woulda done it before we got back from that pig hunt. She got through the worst of it.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I sipped at the cold coffee. Under other circumstances, it would have been awful, but coffee was such a luxury these days, it was a welcome treat no matter how it was prepared. “We need to find a doctor.”
“Yeah, but not right this minute.”
“I know.”
“You’re just fucking with me.”
Murphy laughed.
“I’ll agree with the rest of you. We need to find more people. Or we need to go where more people are. If we try to keep to ourselves isolated out here in the desert, eventually we’ll all die.”
“I think that’s gonna happen anyway.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Murphy got out of his chair and crossed over the cupboard to pour another cup of cold-brew coffee out of the mixing bowl. “Some sugar would be nice.”
I shrugged. I was starting to feel the caffeine buzz through my veins, convincing me I was invincible. It was like Null Spot juice.
“Looky there,” said Murphy, pointing out the window.
I looked up 285, in the opposite direction of Fort Stockton. Something was coming, and I was already betting it was Grace in the Humvee.
We stood there in the kitchen, watching the Humvee grow out of the distance, waiting until we were sure.
“That’s Dalhover,” said Murphy.
I saw someone standing through the roof hatch, manning the .50. “You sure?”
“Look at the way he’s hunched over that thing.” Murphy was already heading for the front door, gathering his things as he went. “It’s him.”
I drained the rest of my coffee. “Was there any more of this?”
Murphy raised his backpack before he swung it over his shoulder. “Nearly two pounds.”
I followed him out of the mobile home, and we stood there in front until the Humvee slowed down and pulled off the pavement.
Grace pulled up in front of us, sending a plume of thick of chalky dust over us, sending Murphy into a coughing fit.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
Jazz was already out from the other side and rushing around to hug Murphy.
Dalhover remained in his perch. Scanning the desert once more before he looked down at me.
“Steph?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine?”
Grace told me, “She was already getting better when we got back yesterday.”
“Better?” I asked. “What does that mean exactly? Did you inject her with the epinephrine?”
“No,” answered Grace.
“There are three Whites down the road, jogging this way,” warned Dalhover. “We need to load up. We can talk on the way.”
Three harmless Whites, my recent entourage. I ignored Dalhover, keeping my focus on Grace. “Tell me.”
“Zed, she was sitting up. She was conscious. Javendra made her take as many Benadryl as they thought were safe. This morning, when we left, she was weak, a little loopy from the bennys, but she’s going to be fine.”
I tried to say, 'Great!' but my voice caught in my throat, so I nodded and headed for the back door.
Jazz caught me and wrapped me in a hug. “She’s fine, Zed. Really.”
I hugged her back and sniffled up my weakness.
“Really,” she told me as she pulled away. “Oh, and thanks for yesterday. I’d have been pissed if you’d gotten yourself killed.”
I managed a laugh as I climbed into the backseat.
Murphy loaded up on the other side as Grace turned the Humvee around to head back home. And I felt safe. Steph was going to be alright. Jazz was fine.
All was well in the world again, but questions about our future lingered.
The End?
Tell a Friend, Reviews, and Other Books
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Book Credits
Cover Design and Layout
Alex Saskalidis, a.k.a. 187designz
Editing, Proofreading, and Beta Reading at least one of the books
Cathy Moeschet
Lindsay Heuertz
Robyn Roopchan
George Mathew
Linda Tooch
Rebecca T. Dickson
Jackie Bauerelen
John W Van Deusen
Julie Carrigan
Christy O'Neil
John Cummings
Kat Kramer-Adair
eBook and Print Formatting
Kat Kramer-Adair
Text copyright © 2013-2019, Bobby L. Adair & Beezle Media, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.