Gathering outside for a headcount, the passenger side door of Mike’s truck opened and Sheila stepped out. Mike helped her along, walking slowly as she was unsteady. Facing the group, it was silent, with no one speaking, not even the children.
Sheila stepped forward, stood in front of each child affected yesterday and looked them each in the eye, apologizing for her actions. She did the same for Joy and Nancy.
I was moved by her sincerity, wishing she had done this yesterday.
Lonnie’s wife turned away, refusing to bear witness. The rest of us watched without saying a word.
Mike pulled Lonnie aside, out of earshot from the rest of us.
* * * *
I told Jim I wanted to try to get hold of David in Raton Pass this morning. Forty minutes later, he was on the line.
“Hi, David,” I said, with a knot in my stomach, knowing I was about to hear some bad news.
“Hi, buddy,” David replied solemnly. “We had a tragic accident here, and we lost my dad.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I told him, knowing his dad was a huge loss to him and the community.
Something told me to skip the next logical question, nearly always asked in the old world: “What happened?”
“He was a good man, a good father to you, and grandfather to your son,” I told him. How’s your mother holding up?”
“Better than the rest of us,” he replied. “She’s sweet as punch and tough as nails,” he added.
“How’s your trip?” David asked, hoping for a change in the subject.
“Brother, you have no idea,” I told him. “Every day is crazier than the last. I figured we’d be at your place a few days ago, and as it sits we’re just northwest of Amarillo.”
“That’s closer for sure,” replied David, “but still a ways out.”
“Let James know we’re still good on our deal, if you talk to him,” I said.
“I haven’t spoken to him lately, but I’m sure I will soon, and I’ll let him know,” replied David. “Remember when you could drive from Dallas to Colorado in one long day?”
“Yeah, we did it just six months ago; now it’s weeks, no doubt. Plus, everybody wants to take our heads off!” I added. “I’ve got some crazy stories for you, my friend.
“You find a girlfriend yet?” I asked him, hoping I wasn’t hitting a sore spot about his deceased wife.
“No, not yet,” he replied, “but Mark gave me the go-ahead if any suitable ladies were to come along.”
“Who knows?” I said. “The right one may show up on your front doorstep one day.”
“We’ll see,” he replied, “but in the meantime I’ve got a group of good people counting on me to lead them in the coming weeks, months, and maybe even years. I’m just trying every day to be the leader they can trust and respect. It’s not easy,” he added.
“I know,” I told him. “Here we have a few of us who all take turns, depending on the situation at hand. We’ll try to give you another call when we’re about a day or two out. There’s a lot of wide-open country between Amarillo and you guys, so I’m hoping we can pick up the pace.
“Our buddy Vlad, the gun guy, is already in Trinidad, and hopefully alive after an accident, but he got to ride on a chopper.”
“All right, buddy. I’ve got to run for now,” said David. “Talk to you soon.”
I half wanted to stay in the hangars for another week or two and rest up, but I knew it couldn’t happen.
I resolved to keep my eyes open on the map for more small airports on the way.
“That was an awesome night,” said Jake, as we headed out. “The airport thing, I mean.”
“Yeah, it beats sleeping outside, next to the road,” I added.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Twenty-five ~ East of the New Mexico Border
“Let’s make some miles today!” said Lonnie. We all gave a whoop, like we were a bunch of cowboys starting a new cattle drive.
I felt good today. Strong, and with renewed hope for our journey.
I had a feeling that we would have a good day. Heading west from Amarillo, we saw a sign for the Big Texan Steak Ranch and Brewery.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Jax and Hendrix called out. “It’s the Big Texas place,” pointing at the oversized billboard.
Every time we drove to Colorado, this was our stop in Amarillo. They had a contest similar to the one John Candy did in the movie The Great Outdoors. Here it was, a 72-ounce steak, baked potato, salad, roll with butter, and shrimp cocktail. Everything had to be eaten in one hour to get the $72 you paid upfront refunded.
The boys loved watching the contest, where we sometimes saw as many as five people competing at once. I remember asking one server how many completed the challenge. She told me about one in ten.
“I’m going to miss that place, buddy,” I whispered to Hudson.
“It’s okay, Daddy. We can just stop there on the way back.”
“Good thinking, Hudson,” I replied, and asked, “Where did you learn to be so smart? Didn’t I teach you that?”
“No, Daddy. I go to school.”
“Ouch!” laughed Jake, overhearing our conversation.
“That does kind of sting,” I joked back.
“Today is going to be a good day,” I told Jake. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“We’re going to hit Highway 287 north, then 87 Northwest,” Lonnie called over the radio. “It’s a three-hour drive to Raton City, New Mexico, from here in optimal conditions. If we’re lucky, we could be there by tomorrow or the next day,” he added.
“There’s not a lot of people up this direction, but we need to be on our toes. We all know what can happen when we relax out here.”
I heard Lonnie and agreed with him, but nothing could change my mood this morning. I was relaxed, and it felt good.
Two hours passed, with mile after mile rolling by.
“Time for a potty break for the kids,” announced Lonnie, slowing the lead truck. We stopped single file, and the kids took turns using the porta-potty on the trailer.
“Hey, buddy, I called,” seeing Jax climb up on the trailer.
“Daddy, can I ride up here with you and Hooty?” Hooty was a nickname we had given Hudson a few years back but hadn’t been used in a while.
“Sure, son. Just let your mom know,” I replied.
“Eyes open!” called Lonnie a few minutes later. “We’ve got a couple of guys on bikes from the east.”
“Get down, boys,” I called, now realizing I was only talking to Hudson and Danny.
“Where’s Jax?” I asked Jake. “Did you see where he went?”
“I think he’s in the potty,” he replied.
The two men on the bikes were headed straight for us at 50 yards out. I couldn’t see any clear signs of weapons. Each rode an old Indian motorcycle, with side bags and sleeping bags on the back.
“Cover me,” I told Jake, as they approached the east side of our trailer.
“Howdy, folks,” the first man said, putting the kickstand down on his bike and shutting off the engine.
“Nice bike,” I said, wanting to appear less concerned than I was.
“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s one of the few machines that still work these days, except of course for all these,” waving his right arm in a sweeping motion towards our caravan.
“Must be nice to have all those vehicles and a lot of supplies, I reckon,” added the second man, putting the kickstand down on his bike but not cutting the engine.
“Nowadays,” he continued, “it’s good for a man to have something valuable to trade, don’t you think?” he asked, looking squarely at me.
I glanced at Jake, and he gave me the nod, saying, “You’re covered. Let’s get this done and over.”
“Well, sir,” I replied, “we don’t have anything we need, so we wish you two good luck down the road.”
“Everybody needs something,” he stated with a grin, as he looked up and down the trailer.
I
had my hand near the butt of my Glock 17 pistol, visible to all in my right hip holster.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we’re not interested in…”
“Got this here snake antivenom,” he said, as he put a heavy black glove over his right hand. “Out here in the wide-open country, it’s easy to run into all kinds of things that could kill you. You folks can never be too careful.
“This here antivenom is genuine, through and through. Got eight bottles straight from the hospital, still cold. How much are you boys willing to pay for this?” he stated.
“As I told you guys before, we’re not interested in trading or buying anything.”
“Show them,” said the man who had been the first to talk but was now quiet.
I caught a glimpse of Mike at the end of the trailer, watching the exchange intently.
The man with the antivenom set it on the ground and reached quickly into his side bag, using his gloved hand.
“Is that what I think it is?” I called out to Jake, as he pulled the three-foot snake out of the bag and threw it end over end onto the trailer. It landed just in front of the porta-potty and immediately curled up. I heard the unmistakable rattle of a diamondback rattlesnake.
We all froze, and I watched in horror as my sweet boy Jax flung open the porta-potty door and took one step out.
The agitated snake struck in seconds, sinking his fangs into my boy’s right leg, just under the knee.
Without thinking, I ran to him, stomping the snake as he tried to strike my work boot.
Everything slowed as I thought about tending to Jax. He needed help, but my body was headed the other way. Dropping my holster and pistol on the trailer, I leapt off the trailer at a full run, crashing into the man who had hurt my boy.
I struck him over and over as Joy was screaming at me to stop.
Mike pulled me off, saying “That’s enough, Lance.”
I fell to the ground, exhausted, and looked at the other man. He was covered in blood but alive.
“On your knees, boys,” commanded Mike.
“Not in front of the kids!” I yelled to Mike.
“That was a stupid thing you guys did…” I started to say, as Mike interrupted me.
“Take no prisoners,” he said in a low monotone voice, firing a fatal shot into the first man’s forehead.
“And leave none,” he added, pointing to the second man, the one who had thrown the snake. He said, “I’ll give you a head start. Now ride.”
The terrified man, still bleeding from his face, fumbled to get his bike turned around and sped away, kicking up dirt and rocks.
“It’s over, Mike,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Everyone should learn to shoot a bow and arrow,” replied Mike. “Isn’t that right, Lance?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the trailing man.
Raising my bow that I never had before shot, he pulled back on the string, letting the arrow fly towards the man on the bike. “High and just to the right,” he said, quickly positioning the second arrow and releasing it.
We all watched the man riding away in slow motion, but not able to outrun the arrow. It hit its mark, throwing the rider from his bike.
We heard a scream. We could all hear the screams as he staggered, trying to run away.
Jake looking through his binoculars, could see the man was running with part of the wooden arrow sticking out of his right buttock.
“Run boy!” yelled a crazed Mike. “Run for your life!”
Mike followed him with my bow and the last arrow. His pace was fast, but he did not run.
“Here I come!” Mike yelled over and over.
Joy, Tina, Jake, and even Lonnie, were all yelling at Mike to stop and come back.
He never turned around as he closed in on the now-condemned man. At 15 yards out, Mike drew his last arrow and let it fly. It flew true, lodging into the man’s mid-back, just to the right of the spine. He screamed again, only louder this time.
Most on the trailer were shocked by this slow, methodical rundown of the man who had hurt my boy. But not me. I wasn’t shocked at all. I had seen it before.
I looked for Jax, turning a blind eye to everything else around me.
As Mike closed in, he found the first arrow he shot, with the bright yellow feathers sticking out of the ground. He stood in front of his prey, casually checking the last arrow for damage, turning it over and over in his hand, like one might inspect a rare coin, as the man begged for his life.
Jake and Lonnie watched through their binoculars as Mike drew back the bow, sending the steel-tipped arrow deep into the man’s forehead. Stepping on the body, he withdrew the arrows from his head and back.
Walking slowly back, Mike picked up the motorcycle. Dusting it off, it started right up. He rode up to the side of the trailer, not acknowledging the shocked and scared children and adults.
He looked at Jake, and with a slight smile called out, “She’s got a few scratches on her, but she still runs like a top,” putting the kickstand down and cutting the engine.
Laying my bow and two blood-stained arrows on the trailer, he looked directly at me. “Lance, I owe you one arrow,” he spoke in a casual, monotone voice.
Without another word, he walked back to his vehicle. And the old Mike is back, I thought.
I snapped back into focus and saw Nancy, Tina and Joy tending to Jax.
“Lance,” yelled Nancy. “Listen to me. I need to see those vials on the ground.”
I gathered them up, with bright sticky blood covering a few of them.
She looked carefully at each one and said that they were the real deal.
“Jake, get my small blue medical bag from the car. It’s got my snakebite kit in it,” Nancy said.
Jax was crying as I held his hand.
“Daddy, why are you bleeding?” he asked, touching my hands.
“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. I just got a few cuts is all.”
I realized that Jax hadn’t seen what happened, but the shocked faces of both adults and the other children told me that they had.
“Daddy, am I going to die?” asked Jax. “I haven’t even ever had a girlfriend,” he added.
“I thought all girls had cooties?!” I said, hoping to distract him just a little.
“Well, most of them do, but there might be a few that don’t.”
“Oh, really?” I replied, raising my eyebrow.
“Daddy, what are they doing to my leg?”
“They’re just fixing where you got hurt.”
“Do you mean where the big snake bit me?”
“Yes, son, that’s precisely what they’re doing, and you will get medicine to help you feel better.”
“Was it a water moccasin, like in Louisiana?”
“No, son. It was a rattlesnake.”
“Like the one you used to have for a pet?” Jax asked.
“Kind of, but this one was mean.” Jax was referring to a story I told him and his brothers of a friend and me finding a baby snake when we were just about his age. We kept it in boxes, old crates, and even in the pockets of our overalls for three weeks, always playing with it. It never acted aggressive or tried to bite us, and we thought it was just a common garden snake.
On the third week, we showed it to my friend’s very concerned dad. He said it was a baby rattlesnake and wanted to kill it. We convinced him to drive us out of town, so we could let it go unharmed.
“This one today, Jax, was mean, like most of them, and I’m sorry it hurt you.”
“I guess it was just my turn,” he said, matter of factly.
“What do you mean, son?”
“Well, Hendrix got lost and Hudson got burned, so it’s just my turn, is all I’m saying.”
“It’s not supposed to be like that,” I told him.
“Guess it’s not going to be a great day, after all,” I told Jake.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said, and added, “Let Nancy take a look at your knuckles when she’s done.”
/> “I’ll do that,” I said, laying down next to Jax.
I stroked my son’s head, making sure not to get any blood on it.
“You’re going to be okay, buddy. Nancy is really good at fixing people, and even better with kids.”
The Road Page 26